


Kintsukuroi

by unkahii



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Healing, Red String of Fate, Rollercoaster of Emotions, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, akaashi and kuroo being wingmen, but they are soulmates anyways and stuck with each other, kags doesn't seem to care and reader overthinks things a lot, lots of emotions, reader akaashi and kuroo are best friends, reader and kags are incompatible at first sight hence problems ensue, yachi as reader's neighbour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26499139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkahii/pseuds/unkahii
Summary: You’re nothing but a tired college student, with a bit of a knack for painting. Thanks to Hitoka Yachi’s insistence, you end up at a div. 1 v-league match one fine day and due to fate’s strange workings, discover your pro-volleyball player, emotionally toddler of a soulmate. Although, you might always end up coming second to volleyball for Tobio Kageyama, Schweiden Adlers, number 20, fortunately or unfortunately, you cannot tell, you’re stuck with him forever.And he is stuck with you forever too
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader, Kageyama/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

The moment you step in, however, you realise how alien all of this is to you.

The low hum that permeates the warm, crowded air of the gymnasium’s entrance, grows louder and louder as you go forth. A few more steps, and soon you can smell the butter on popcorn and the smoky aroma of yakitori, hear the clinking of beer glasses, the laughter of children and adults alike, and the resonating collection of several voices talking excitedly and animatedly. Your eyes are greeted with a sudden burst of colour—the bright banners, the merchandise stall, the jerseys and the bold numbers printed on them flashing at you from this way and that. A jittery tension, the distinctive scent of something… _what_ you couldn’t pinpoint, hangs in the atmosphere thickly. Your pupils thus widen on their own accord, as if trying their best to take in the almost overwhelming scenery.

“Y/n, you there?”

Hitoka Yachi’s voice snaps you out of your awe-induced semi-stupor. Your head jerks to her direction nastily. With mild concern in her eyes, she stares at you from five steps ahead. Immediately you shake your head.

“Yes, yes,” you say and in two long strides close the gap between you and her. “It’s my first time at something like this y’know,” you add, “official v-league match and all. Jus’ a lil’ overwhelmed, that’s it.”

She smiles at you, something akin to nostalgia clouding her eyes. “Ah, I used to be really nervous too when I first got into managing the volleyball club. The guys are so tall…it was scary, no doubt.” She laughs lightly, and you join in.

“You used to be the manager of your highschool volleyball club, right, Hitoka?” you tell her conversationally, “I remember you telling me about it a little while ago. What was your school again…ugh, my memory’s gone trash with all those notes cramped inside.” When you close your eyes, in an attempt to recall the conversation you shared with her around a month or so ago, the only things you find are the dismal notes for this week’s revision test.

“Karasuno,” she replies brightly, “oh and yes, one of my old friends from back then is there in today’s roster! It’s been such a long time since I saw him play.”

“Hmm…is that so?” you ask, a polite attempt at maintaining the conversation, although, very honestly, your brain is already reeling and your interest dwindling ever so slightly. Guess, the caffeine from last week is finally getting to you. Somewhere at the back of your mind, you have a feeling that says this conversation took place before too. But alas, you can remember nothing of that now. Good thing, it’s rather difficult to offend Yachi with such trivialities. “What’s his name again?”

“Tobio Kageyama,” Yachi hums. “Schweiden Adlers, setter, number twenty…” she reads out from a colourful shiny pamphlet. “They used to call him a genius in high school, reasonable in my opinion. Went to the Olympics too.” You can feel your eyes automatically widen to the size of saucers. _Oh my god…_

“What?!” you exclaim a tad bit too loudly, “Olympics?! Wow, that’s craaazy.” You sigh, already overwhelmed (it’s also a sign from your subconscious that it is time to give up trying to get deeper into all this: it’s dizzying even hearing this much).

“Oh look that’s us,” Yachi points towards the empty seats two rows behind the first. Looking around, you again feel blinded by the brightness of it all but also internally thankful because now there is no reason for you to push through the topic of discussion any longer since a larger than life distraction is at hand. Following her soundlessly, you finally settle down on your seat.

“It’ll start anytime now,” someone remarks around you. The words spark the arrival of fresh glitters in Yachi’s eyes. She whips her head towards you and grins radiantly. Gosh, this girl does enjoy volleyball a lot. How are you supposed to even keep up with her enthusiasm when you barely know the first thing about it?!

“Looks like we made it in the nick of time!” she chirps. You force a grin and decide to focus on the court. The announcements blare out through the speakers, loud and warm and fuzzy, introducing the teams and their players, filling every nook and cranny of the arena. One by one men clad in white jerseys march out into the court. Beside you, Yachi’s enthusiasm is palpable and rather infectious— that is why maybe you find yourself pulled in too. With a lot of effort you pay attention to the announcements, mentally noting down the names of the tall as hell guys down there and trying to memorise the positions they play in. Even if half of those terms pass above your head, instead of through, in the most happy-go-lucky fashion, you do give it an earnest try. For some time after the whistle blows you find yourself pretty hyped up too, eagerly watching the movement of the ball, trying not to forget the names that you just memorised and successfully correlate them with the commentary going on. Five minutes pass, then ten, fifteen, twenty.

And at the end of the first set you discover yourself hiding a magnificent yawn behind your hand, head full of fog, and wondering what you could have done, had you stayed back at your apartment: slept in, did your homework…it is Sunday afterall. 

But no, bleary eyed you do your very very best to concentrate on the game and try to match at least a fraction of Hitoka Yachi’s energy levels, only to fail dismally. Why, she looks extra spurred on to cheer today. Ah, that’s right, she did say her friend is playing. _What’s his name? Nah…_ your brain refuses to present you with any coherent piece of information. You stare away into space, horribly blanking out when all around you the crowd cheers, the commentators dish out opinion after opinion, Yachi gushes and cries emotionally, and the players passionately utter words in between passing the ball, that you cannot make any damn sense of. Silver lining is that you can at least keep track of the score because of the simple rule that says whenever one team lets the ball touch the ground, the opposite team scores. Genius choice made by whoever came up with the idea of implementing this super simple concept to the game. The moving numbers at least keep you awake when your eyes begin to droop down after every 20 seconds. 

_You’re here to enjoy yourself, Y/n, take a break. Relax, don’t think._ If you look closely, you are relaxing, truth be said—your head is empty, you’re not putting in any physical effort into anything except for the effort that is required for you to keep your eyes open. Whether it is the mental exhaustion that has come in the aftermath of a hectic week or your disinterest in volleyball making you dizzy and numb like this, you truly don’t know. The ball goes back and forth, the giants of players slam it down into the floor, the crowd cheers, Yachi babbles at your side. You yawn again, this time a large one. Closing your eyes tight shut you stretch your arms. Yes, there is that red thread in the darkness again, as it always has been there, stretching out from your little finger and fading into space…

No

It is not fading into space. Not at all.

Your body freezes, your heartbeats jump to a gallop. All sounds hush into silence in your ears.

_What is that again?_

Almost afraid, you bring your eyelids down again. Your heart is beating so fast that it might burst out of your ribcage at any point. You must be breathing but it doesn’t seem like you are, for your lungs feel like steel. The thin line of bright red has been stretched taut; it emerges out of your little finger as it always had, and runs through the darkness behind your closed eyes as it always had. But in that darkness you can also see a silhouette, an outline of sorts.

The thread takes you to a man, down there on the court.

_This world is a strange one. When it started, nobody can pinpoint. Government funded research seeks to unearth any shred of scientific reason behind this weirdest of phenomena. They are yet to find any. You can say that there is none. Everyone is born in pairs, joined by an invisible red string to the person who is supposed to be their so-called ‘true love’. This person shall be known as your soulmate, the one you are destined to be with. The catch? You can see this red string when you close your eyes, and in case your soulmate happens to be nearby, you ought to find the thread joining you to a vague shadowy form of their self in that darkness._

_Which means…_

Your eyes snap open; the blood pumping through your veins creates a din in your ears. Your heart is screaming as it clenches and unclenches way too fast in your chest. Everything else blurs in your periphery, Yachi is saying something, but it doesn’t reach you. Your gaze finds itself trained on the players on the court, as frantically you search—which one, which one, which one.

_He is down there._

Scrunching your eyes shut, then snapping them open again. Search in the darkness, search in the blinding light of the arena. The commentators drone on, the game moves forth. Which set is it? Which team is leading? Do you have enough time to find out which one among the players is your soulmate?

But finally you do find out anyways. With a herculean amount of effort, you make out the faint outline of the number 20 on the back of the silhouette in the realm of darkness. And next when you see light, at lightning speed, you locate him. Schweiden Adlers, number twenty…

Tobio Kageyama.

_What?_

“Y/n? Y/n, are you alright? Has something got into your eyes? You look pale. We can go home right now if you want there’s no pressure to watch the game.”

You turn to your side and Yachi’s anxious face swims into your view once again. She looks apologetic and almost panicky, golden orbs laced with concern and widened. Gulping down, in an effort to moisten your dry throat, you shake your head and reassure her as convincingly as you can. “No, it’s fine,” you mumble and manage a shaky smile. She eyes you warily for a few more seconds before letting her gaze trace a path back to the court. Full of apprehension, you watch till the scowl dissolves away from her face, and then once sure that you have successfully fooled her, torturously slow, you turn your head back towards the court. Towards Tobio Kageyama, schweiden adlers, number 20, setter, in Yachi’s voice the words play inside. Around you, the energy charged sounds of the arena seems to have returned.

Once, twice, thrice you close your eyes and reopen them. Again and again and again and again. Your heart is still beating way too fast, tirelessly, endlessly. KAGEYAMA, the bold letters printed at the back of his jersey in that blue font seems to get burnt into the back of your eyes. A queer mixture of intense feelings curdles inside your being, frenzied and excited, just like the adrenaline filled emotions that crackle through every inch of the gymnasium.

You lose track of the game, and your sole focus becomes his dark haired form. You watch him play, and even if you barely know the first thing about volleyball, you can tell that he moves as if the ball is merely an extension of his body. Fire burns in his eyes.

Suddenly, you realize that Kageyama’s turn to serve has arrived again. Something about his dangerous serving skills is being said on the microphone. Leaning in closer to the court, you observe him carefully. A voice (of what you don’t know for god’s sake) asks you to imprint the memory of this serve into your brain. Who knows when you will get to watch your soulmate of all people play again?

(The word soulmate sends shivers down your spine. Quickly, you close your eyes again and steal a glance at the red string of fate, as if scared that it will disappear quietly without telling you)

He halts at the flag end of the court, bouncing the yellow-blue ball a couple of times. Then shutting his eyes, he takes in a deep breath. You watch, full of anticipation, waiting for the ball to launch into the air. The commentators are still gushing about his skills. _A prodigious Olympian, huh?_ What did you do in your last life to get an ultra super talented athlete as your damn soulmate?

Abruptly, however, Kageyama’s eyes snap open and zap towards the stands, towards the crowd, and then…

Towards you.

Your gazes lock for the fraction of a split second, both shock widened.

Your breath hitches for a moment. You can almost visualize the red string under the glare of the lights too.

Two heartbeats pass. The whistle blows. One word echoes in your head over and over again.

.

.

_Soulmates_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

The game moves on, as if nothing has happened. And although your heartbeat has staggered down to a more comfortable rhythm, the muscles of your chest stay clenched tight. Your eyes no more follow the game at hand, but him. Your mind no more registers any trivial detail other than the steadily intensifying awareness of his being your soulmate. Nonetheless, while you are filled with the thoughts of Tobio Kageyama, Schweiden adlers, number 20, Olympian, volleyball prodigy, going round and round inside your head tirelessly, the person in question seems to have totally forgotten about your existence.

_Hey, look this way again. I know you saw the red string._

The sight of his widening eyes finding yours in that huge crowd is still freshly burnt into your retinas. A moment of frozen seconds and heartbeats. It was lost as soon as it had come. His gaze traced a path back to the court, and the few chances of your having mistaken the coincidence for something else was smashed immediately when his supposedly monster-serve missed its mark by a large gap. The voices of the commentators wondering out loud what must have gone wrong with Kageyama was your cue to sheepishly smile to yourself, and be overcome with restless butterflies in your stomach. There remained no room for suspicion; you know he did. Your intuition coupled with logic and observation skills screams that he saw it.

The red string of fate.

But tragically, ever after he missed that serve, not once, _not fucking once_ , has he made an attempt to find you in the packed arena again. Yeah, granted, he needs to concentrate on the game and cannot afford to miss another serve again. But isn’t finding your soulmate enough to make you lose your shit? _It’s just another match, another serve._ Kageyama nevertheless appears rather unfazed to you, while internally, (like a _damn schoolgirl_ ) you chant in a mantra, _‘look this way again’_.

You hope but he doesn’t at the end. The game ends at a point, but he still doesn’t. His gaze remains turned away from the stands while sadness crashes onto you in a great tsunami wave. 

It almost feels like he is ignoring you deliberately. The thought makes your stomach churn unpleasantly with disappointment; your chest hurts. _Why?_

“Y/n,” Yachi calls out to you, breaking your reverie yet again. “The match is over, we should go home now.”

You meet her gaze. She scans your face carefully, trying to dig out the reason for why you are so clearly on the edge. “Yeah, let’s go home,” you mutter lowly. What you don’t notice is how her eyebrows join to form a tight line.

“Is something bothering you, Y/n? You’re acting strange.”

Ah, there she goes again, Hitoka Yachi with her people reading skills. She notices everything. (But then again you’ve been nothing less than obvious.) _Should I tell her? That Kageyama is my soulmate?_

Silently, you juggle the options in your head under Yachi’s scrutinising gaze. _Ah, no, not now._

“Nothing really, I got a bit dazed that’s it.” A big fat lie.

But she chooses not to push you further and side by side you take your leave. Stealthily, you glance back at the court again, at the players in white that are still lingering there. Subconsciously, a last plea leaves your soul: _wish he looks this way._

Nothing happens. Sometime later you find yourself on the subway. 

.

A heft. A ten thousand ton weight. The feeling that ultimately settles into your heart and makes itself at home can only be described as lead-like and weirdly suffocating. It’s sadness, disappointment, frustration and restlessness at once. The image of the vividly red line piercing the darkness and stretching out from you to him, is stuck in your head; it slips in between the sight of the buildings that rush on outside the train’s window. _What am I doing?_ You think of his eyes meeting yours and widening with sheer shock. The word soulmate echoes in your ears incessantly. But where does all of it get you? 

You wanted, no, you _longed_ that he sought you out again, slightly flushed, slightly fidgety, and awe and slight adoration swimming on his face. That after the match ended, he pushed through the crowd, panting and met you in the lounge outside. “Are you…did I see that right?” And the dream of meeting your soulmate that you’ve dreamt, just like everybody else, would finally come true. 

_What am I, an idiot? You’re daydreaming Y/n, like a fucking teenager, at the age of twenty._

The fact that he made just no effort to seek you out, restless or not, bothered or not, makes your heart hurt. It’s something as important as finding your soulmate. Your palm clenches itself into tight fists to prevent the monstrous sense of disappointment and hopelessness inside you from leaking out in the form of tears. You want to cry, truth be said, but yet you try to reason with yourself vehemently. He had a match going on, it’s a professional matter to him, it’s what he does. It’s natural to be focused on the game, that’s the mature decision. _Think, Y/n wouldn’t you have concentrated on your job had it been you, instead of reacting like a silly girl._

_No, I would have jumped up in excitement._

He could have met you in the lounge then. You saw a few of the players talking to this person and that there on your way out. Where was he then? Was he caught up in something? Maybe. Or what if…

 _He doesn’t care about soulmates at all._

Bitterness drops into the pit of your stomach, like viscous honey, but with the chemical nature of an acid— corroding away each and every shred of joy and happiness inside and freezing everything up with chilly coldness. Doesn’t care, the phrase repeats itself in your head again. A feeling of doom descends upon you. For a moment, you can tell that your vision blurs pathetically with what can only be tears, threatening to pour out in helpless rivulets. 

You don’t let them however. And bite back your sadness using faked indifference and clip your emotions with logic. Everyone needs space, be a little understanding. 

Before stepping into her apartment next door to yours, Yachi once more inquires full of worry if you are alright. You nod and muster a (fake) smile, and wish her goodnight and thank her for the good time. The knob to your front door turns under your hand, the door swings open. It feels suffocating, maybe it’s because the windows have been closed all day. The clock ticks loudly inside the silence of your flat. 

Soulmates, huh? If the start itself is so bad, how worse it might get next. 

Despite your best efforts, a minute later you end up crying in the bathroom. 

.

.

.

Maybe you want the sweet, buttery taste of apple-flavoured soju melting onto your tastebuds to make you forget the melancholy inside your being that keeps raising its head every now and then ominously. Maybe you want that your body is rid of the pressure of shattered expectations and hopeless thoughts through the strokes that the pencil in your hand creates on the surface of paper. Do you know however what you are attempting to sketch? No, sort of you don’t—you are just allowing your wrist to ride the boat that might take you towards some form of catharsis. 

“It’s going to be difficult,” Akaashi announces after five minutes of silence. You raise your eyes from the sketchbook and find him staring out of the window of your room, at the gibbous moon outside. When he decides to meet your gaze that is expectant for an explanation, the very familiar akaashi-ish mixture of seriousness, concern and quiet mature reasoning is swirling in his gunmetal orbs. “This is just the start.”

“Hey, don’t be a killjoy,” you add, smiling wryly. He sighs and smiles back at your reaction. Taking a sip from his own can, he says, “of all people it had to be him…I don’t know how it’s going to work.”

“You’re supposed to give me some hope and sympathy here, dude,” you groan hopelessly. “You’re making me feel worse really.”

“You asked me to be honest with my thoughts, Y/n.” He sits down opposite to you on the floor. “And besides, you know it too, don’t you?” 

Even the tired smile fades away from your face this time. “I know,” you mumble. 

“Been overthinking again, I am sure?” 

“You cannot help it. That’s why I am trying to spend time doing this,” you point at the sketchbook opened under you on the table, “to distract myself.”

Silence again. Just the sound of the liquid moving around inside the cans in your hands, the graphite of the pencil in your hand scratching the surface of the paper and the hands of the clock ticking on tirelessly

“It’s been two days already,” you softly say. The light in Akaashi’s eyes quivers for once or twice, the almost unalterable sense of calmness in them is disturbed for a second. He doesn’t know what to say for this once, how to respond, how to sympathize, how to make you feel any better

And worse, how to deliver the thoughts that are cropping up inside his head spontaneously. 

“Tobio Kageyama…I knew him back in highschool,” he begins. “Played the same position as me, but was hellishly more talented. My skills are nothing when compared to his. And he is just…very driven about the sport. Intense. He has gone pro, that’s not a shock. Sort of, he makes me feel that…” you can notice him gulping down a lump that has unknowingly formed in his throat. It’s hesitation. The kind the comes as the prelude to the delivery of a harsh truth.

“Volleyball is the only thing in his life, at least that’s what I feel. But it’s not like Bokuto-san, it’s more like….he sucks at everything else. His people skills are…trash." 

"Trash?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“See I don’t know any other word for it." 

You burst out laughing, for your best friend, Keiji Akaashi rarely prefers word choices as these. You call it his posh and elite mouth, he scowls at your insinuations. Well, it did sound weird and so you laugh, for a moment forget about everything else and grin. However, it dissolves away as it came, and the bitterness that it leaves in its wake, hurts ten times worse. 

"His people skills are trash, volleyball is the only thing in his life, driven about the sport,” you mumble one by one. “Does it mean his soulmate doesn’t matter to him?" 

To this Akaashi truly has no answer. He just decides to tear his gaze away from you. 

"It’s been two days,” you add. 

“Maybe he didn’t see the thread. There’s a chance you just misread the situation." 

Did you? Misread the situation that is? Once more in your mind’s eye the scene flashes in vivid detail—the colours still intact: the red of the thread, the blue of his eyes. The latter widening for a brief moment before darting back to the court once the whistle was heard. Meeting yours in the crowd and widening. You know, your eyes met, your gazes locked. And that moment you knew. 

That he saw, that he knew that you knew. He has spotted the red string too. 

"I am not mistaken, Keiji.” He sighs, what does he have to offer? It makes him feel like he is a bad friend. The sad quietness, with the sound of the soju pouring into your mouths and then traveling down your throat, acting as the harmony in the background, returns. The scratching of graphite over paper has however stopped. Akaashi quietly pulls the copy away from under you and wordlessly inspects what you have created. A red thread and a man, must be your new muse. 

_Why does it have to be like this? Why?_

_Does he not care?_

Nonetheless, the silence is suddenly interrupted. Your phone rings and Akaashi’s mouth twitches as usual upon hearing the ringtone that he obviously doesn’t like (but since he is way too considerate, he never admits it) . The number is unknown, you swipe to receive. 

“Hello, this is L/n." 

The static fills the gap between this side and the other for a couple of seconds. You scowl, slightly annoyed that you are being forced to wait by this random person. When you’re about to fire another hello, sound emerges from the other side in fidgety notes. Opposite to you, Akaashi, clearly having heard the words meets your gaze in surprise. 

.

.

"Umm…this is Tobio Kageyama from Schweiden Adlers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on tobios-queen.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

There’s the familiar faint creaking noise followed by the door closing shut behind him. Next, Akaashi meets your gaze and nods imperceptibly (a soundless ‘all the best’). You can only gulp—an attempt to swallow the jitters that are creeping up your throat from your chest. Your heart has already started fluttering too fast; god knows what will happen to it when finally you encounter him. Akaashi chooses not to force you into speaking and lets you have the space just like the wise old guy he is. So, silently, you climb down the stairs of the building, Akaashi leading and you trailing behind in his wake.

> Your heart seemed to stop beating for one split second upon hearing the words that had just arrived from the other side. The static once more stretched out through the silence. Inside your head, all thoughts had been replaced by a blank fog; suddenly, you simply had zero clues about what to say and how to respond.
> 
> _Speak_ , Akaashi mouthed urgently. You shot him a panic-stricken, what-the-hell-should-i-do kind of look, but he just glowered at you sharply, urging you to open up your mouth at least. Taking in a deep breath, you spoke—
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> Once again the silence filled with the static. No reply arrived from the other side. You could almost hear Kageyama’s loudly beating heart across the phone; the lack of an immediate response pronounced the fact that he was no less at a loss of words than you, maybe even more.
> 
> “Uh, you see, L/n-san, there’s something…that I kind of need to…tell you,” he said, “this must be too sudden…ugh, this is weird, I hope I don’t creep you out.” Very obviously, this guy was nervous as hell. Hearing his stuttering, you gained a sudden spurt of confidence and surety. The blank inside your head cleared, even if a little.
> 
> “Speak up, Kageyama-san. I am sure I know what you want to say.”
> 
> “Y-You know? What is that supposed to mean?” he blurted confusedly.
> 
> “It’s supposed to mean, what it’s supposed to mean,” you added, albeit coolly. “Now go on.”
> 
> Heavens knew if you were being too cold. But the moment you ended up doubting your approach to this conversation, the thoughts of your tortured emotions made a return. How you had hoped he would come to you sooner, seeing that he knew (and now it was being confirmed too…Akaashi could eat his words, you hadn’t misread a single fucking thing) you were his soulmate. He had seen the string, but chose not to make a single move, ignore you and maintain an ugly radio silence for the last two days. What did that even mean?! People danced with joy, threw parties and phoned every acquaintance in existence once they discovered their soulmate, but this guy didn’t acknowledge your entire existence till now. Was it because his busy pro-volleyball schedule prevented him from gathering the time to even contact you for once?
> 
> Or…
> 
> _Was it because he simply didn’t care?_
> 
> Your heart dropped at this thought again. On the other side, Kageyama said, “look, I don’t know where you are getting at exactly, but this is something important I guess…”
> 
> ‘important’? The word struck across your heart. 
> 
> _Then, did I seriously overthink this thing…there was nothing to be upset over? He has a life too._
> 
> _Am I overreacting then?_
> 
> _Am I being too petty?_
> 
> _Too dramatic?_
> 
> “L/n-san, I think…there’s a chance we might be soulmates.”
> 
> _Am I taking the right way about it?_

Outside the window of the train the buildings speed on, the stars hanging in the inky sky shift one by one, as if they wave at you, wishing you good luck. Something about this makes you smile shakily at your own reflection on the window. Your head has again gone into overdrive, one thought after the other rushing in like tidal waves at full moon. Thoughts, worries, questions and doubts. What you should do, what you should not. What would ensure the best outcome?

Your heart does race faster, almost matching the pace of the train. It’s due to excitement, you can tell. You’re finally going to stand face to face with your soulmate. _Maybe he’ll smile with a blush on his face._ The prospect of so many good things happening makes you grin giddily in the most school-girlish fashion.

But as there is the possibility of things going fine, there is also the possibility of things getting severely messed up.

_Like they are now._

The more you think, greater is the pace picked up by this oscillation of emotions. Your heart drops at the thought of how your last two days have gone. How deliberately, he decided to ignore you in the volleyball arena, despite coming to learn of your being his soulmate. His apparent lack of external emotions in the matter scares you and depresses you at the same time. So much can go wrong, in so many ways. Why he stayed silent, you still don’t know. Over the phone, you didn’t raise the topic. However, your mannerisms made the matter quite clear that you are not very happy with whatever the situation has come to be.

(Although at the back of your mind you worry if it was too much, if you should have held back and whether it can lead to the relationship that has not even established itself properly being stained with bitterness right at the start. He already doesn’t seem to care, anyways)

But then you think how ignoring your own feelings might lead to even worse results in the long run. Like a torturous cycle this thought pattern doesn’t stop from recurring inside your mind, over and over and over, till you feel exhausted. By the time, the train comes to a halt at your destination station, you feel too tired to even think anymore. _Let whatever happens, happen,_ you say to yourself, as you step out into the night air of Tokyo. The breeze from the sea whips across your face the moment you emerge outside and you shiver a little, both from the slight chill and anticipation.

It’s time.

Your heels tap against the concrete. You wish for time to move slower, but it really doesn’t and seems to have sped up instead. The walk to your assigned meeting spot takes only a few minutes at most. It’s incredibly quiet for night time Tokyo’s standards. A prettily tiled space, with aesthetic lighting waits for you up ahead; the shopping complex to which it forms the entrance, is in preparation of closing down for the day. So the hum and hustle is low in the air. Carefully, you scan the few benches that dot the scenery, while inside your chest, your heart gallops too fast. 

And then you spot him. 

For a second you feel as if your lungs have forgotten how to breathe. Your insides seem to freeze up as does time. Every single muscle in your body refuses to move—you just stand there, and stare. The centre parted black hair, the volleyball athlete’s build, the terse expression and most importantly, the blue eyes that surprisingly shine out even from this distance (as it had done that day). A few split seconds pass, and then you finally find back the will of your muscles. Even with your heart beating in a frantic tattoo inside your chest, you clear your throat somewhat loudly. 

His gaze as a result shoots towards you from the empty air up ahead. 

The same thing that you experienced just a moment ago, happens to him now. At the end, this is the same old soulmate shit. It has been described countless times in fiction and for this once, fantasy and reality do not occupy separate zones demarcated by boundaries. His eyes widen, his frame freezes up, seemingly devoid of any kind of movement. Not even a tiny twitch of any muscle. Your heart still races, but you are hyper aware of your breathing— strained and heavy as hell. The first one to break the silence happens to be you. 

“Hi" 

He jerks awake at the sound, and looks around at you, startled like a deer in headlights. Awkwardly, he stands up from his seat on the bench and breathes out restlessly, 

"Tobio Kageyama" 

The awkwardness in the air is the elephant in the room here, it pans out in the space that separates you from him like a sticky something. You stare at him, then gulp. He looks at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, and continues his own silence. No one speaks. Your heart sprints so fast that you fear it might jump out of your throat. Thoughts don’t make sense, words don’t form on your tongue. Oh god, what on earth should I even say? What does one say to their soulmate when meeting them for the first time. 

_Soulmate, right._

Yours seems to be on the more awkward side of the social skills spectrum.

"So, Kageyama-san, this is Y/n L/n, your prospective soulmate,” you say finally. “Er, nice to meet you." 

"I-” he begins, only to shut his mouth clumsily, apparently clueless about how to continue the conversation. And next, he scowls faintly. You watch curiously, with your lips pursed to prevent either judgement or laughter from coming out, as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and shoves his hands deep into his jacket’s pockets. His eyes stay turned away from you and face the tiled floor instead. 

_This guy is hopeless._

“Umm…L/n-san, it’s about that soulmate thing. Ugh, I said that over the phone, right? We need some sort of confirmation-" 

"And you decide to tell me that two days after you saw the string! You chose to keep me hanging on the fence like that all this time,” you fire at him impetuously, although your voice remains icy cold. “Care to explain why?" 

His scowl deepens and his face now shoots up, the first hints of annoyance playing across his visage. "What? Is that why you’re mad? Because I didn’t talk to you immediately?” Disbelief. As if ignoring your soulmate upon finding them is the most normal thing to do. 

“I needed time,” he announces bluntly, with no remorse or guilt whatsoever in his voice. “Besides, I have a busy schedule,you must understand that." 

"You knew that I knew this too then?" 

"I saw you looking at me during the match. And uh…. your expression was funny. A lot of people look, but there was something…weird- is that the right word- about the way you stared,” he elaborates. “And then there was the…uh, string. So, it sort of added up." 

"Then why did you not contact me earlier." 

"I was busy. And things like these need time to process." 

He states them just like facts, and suddenly you feel really stupid about yourself, wondering if it really was too dramatic of you to react like this. After all, everyone has different ways of dealing with situations, sometimes drastically different from each other. 

But then again…

It will be a lie if you say that you are not pissed off at all. Shutting up right now will only imply invalidating your own feelings, which you don’t want to do, no matter how prickly the other route may be. It’s better than living with the itch of not being able to be yourself freely. 

(For you do know where it will lead you. A rotten seed never blossoms, let alone germinate to a healthy tree) 

"Didn’t you think about my feelings in all this?” you say. “What I felt like? I thought you simply do not care about whether I am your soulmate or not! Maybe you don’t too…I don’t really know. I get you’re busy and all with your pro-volleyball career and that you needed time to process things…but just reaching out for once and letting me know that you actually might give a fuck about this entire thing…is that too troublesome? How much time does saying ‘i think we’re soulmates’ take?! This is not just about you, don’t forget that." 

_I am stuck with you for the rest of my life._

The frown on his face melts away, and surprise and shock instead crawl up and settle down. The wind from the sea cards through your tresses and ruffles up his dark black hairs. Manifestly, years of volleyball has conditioned his body to look like a Greek god— he’s tall, well built, and if you take away the frown that mars his expression almost perpetually, he is handsome too. But in the baffled stare with which he fixes you, there’s an unmistakable cluelessness, as if he had never imagined that your feelings might be hurt at the end. Although it still does irk you, you feel sort of bad for the guy too. He looks like the type that has zero ideas about how to navigate through the complicated waters of social relationships. 

"You are mad because I didn’t…well, because I didn’t talk to you after the match?” You maintain your silence, he seems visibly shaken. “Or are you hurt because I… didn’t reach out earlier?" 

More silence. 

"I’m not really the best person when it comes to social things, especially not these things…soulmates and all. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings obviously." 

Your bearing softens. He genuinely seems at a loss of words. 

Lights dance in the blue of his eyes. Questions and doubts do quiver there. Images of your own pathetically hopeless self, reels into your mind one after the other: the tightness in your chest as you lied to Yachi, telling her you were fine, your own puffy red eyes that stared out of your bathroom’s mirror into your face, the endless flurry of worries and anxious thoughts that kept crawling back into your mind in between classes, and Tobio Kageyama’s gaze meeting yours, awareness of the truth evident there, before looking away and never looking back, no matter how strongly you wished he did. The question is not about whether one finds the time or not, is ready to confront the issue head on or not…it’s the question of acknowledgement: whether they acknowledge you of being their soulmate, the one connected with them with a red string, their so-called true love, the one with whom they’re stuck for their entire life. 

_Can you even reject your soulmate?_

"Kageyama-san, not to be rude or anything,” you begin, “but after you didn’t respond that day, I wondered if you do care about having a soulmate or not. I know, the system teaches you to never take this bond lightly, but still…" 

You raise your eyes and they lock with his. All emotions that were stewing inside you painfully, pour out. You don’t hold back either. This time, let’s be honest from the start. 

"You do care about this soulmate thing right? Or do you think it’ll get in the way of your volleyball career so it’s better to not get involved? Please be honest, I’ll try to understand your reasons with the best of my ability.

"If you don’t want to be involved, I won’t force you." 

Turmoil rears its hideous head. The war inside his heart shows up on his face ever so prominently. As a result, he ends up scowling fiercely. Saying these out loud definitely did you better, you feel lighter. But the ominous clouds gathering over your head fill your heart with fresh worries. 

_What if this destroys everything even before they get a chance to start? There’s a good chance it might._

But still…

"It’s not so easy like that!” he replies angrily. “It’s not so easy like you’re making it sound. Volleyball is my everything, I can’t choose anything else over it no matter who or what that is. 

"But this entire soulmate thing….I am not going to say that I don’t care. I do…maybe. I have no idea about how to go about this. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. Yes, volleyball comes first, isn’t that natural? But it’s not like I don’t care. I am just bad at it, at all this." 

A sigh leaves your chest, and a smile melts the tension away from your face and marks the same disappearing away from your mind too. After what seems ages, your heart lightens. You nod at him, and murmur a bittersweet, "it’s okay.” For now, this really is okay. Not a perfect start, for sure. No sparks fly, undoubtedly. 

“We can work on it." 

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, L/n-san. Maybe I should have spoken to you that day." 

But the truth would stay the same, he didn’t approach you at the end. Kageyama did what he thought he should. That’s his normal reaction. Honestly, this isn’t like what you had in mind. An apparently emotionally stunted soulmate wasn’t what you expected or wanted. It would no doubt bring aboard more issues in the future. But for now….

It is okay. 

"Anyways Kageyama-san, what’s happened has happened. We can’t reverse it,” you say “But for now we must confirm it.” Your heartbeats again accelerate, and your words threaten to catch at your throat. “Er..er…whether we are…really…soulmates or not. I mean of course we both saw it, but still-" 

"No, I get your point. So then let’s just close our eyes-”

“Can we do it together?" 

Even in the faint light you can see the blush pink that blossoms across his face, and the dazed look he offers you. Unable to hold your gaze, embarrassed, he looks away. "On the count of three then." 

Your chest tightens. 

"One”

In the quietness of the night, you can only hear the sound of your loudly beating heart. 

“Two" 

Butterflies flutter not only in your stomach, but also inside your nerves and veins. 

"Three" 

Your eyelids come down. 

In the darkness, the thin yet vividly red thread is still there. It looks living—the essence of life flowing out of your little finger to outside. The rippling red runs through the darkness in a taut line, and ends at the tip of his little finger. Tobio Kageyama’s silhouette in that darkness is clearer than the last time, you can almost make out the patterns on his jacket. Whether you like it or not, this is it. There’s no way you can run. 

Your eyes snap open to find him breathlessly staring at you, his face flushed. As if he has just ran a mile. The cars still honk and speed by on the road closeby. Rain clouds are gathering in the sky — it must shower heavily tonight. No sparks fly, the background doesn’t turn pink. Yet his lips inch upwards a little by little. A grin erupts on your countenance too. 

.

.

For the first time you see him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on tobios-queen.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

“And that’s it?!" 

The doors to the subway slide open and you step out, with Tetsurou Kuroo trailing in your wake. The latter’s hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his windbreaker and obvious disappointment paints his face. Spontaneously, you frown at his reaction. Without as much as sparing a glance backwards, you fire at him irritably, 

"What do you mean by _that’s it_ , huh?!" 

He jogs up to your side, and together you begin the ascent up the stairs and out of the station. "Hey, don’t get mad,” he says offhandedly. “You met your soulmate of all people, and that’s all that happened?" 

You give him a tired glance. What’s the point of discussing this, you don’t know. Yet you reply, once more affirming what you said to him earlier, "yes, that’s all that happened." 

"Geez, that’s boring." 

"I know.” You sigh. “Don’t remind me of it, Tetsu. I don’t want to think about it.”

When you offer him a tired and wry smile, his expressions soften with sympathy, marking a pause to the conversation. The colourful lights of the bustling city blossom into your view, the buzzing hum warms the air up. The crowd here is thick; people in many-hued outfits walk by busily, leisurely or in a way that’s in between. Neon lights, the glass panels of the posh stores that stand one after the other along the road, the large billboards with the poster of the anime that’s airing this season, and almost every shade born from the seven colours of the rainbow decorate the scenery. Inside your mind, thoughts of Tobio Kageyama return back once again. An endlessly, but painfully flowing river of thoughts—the more you think, the gloomier you feel. But, neither can you stop thinking, nor can you stop yourself from being reminded of the foundational cracks that this… _thing_ has.

_“Volleyball is my everything, I can’t choose anything else over it no matter who or what that is.”_

_“Yes, volleyball comes first, isn’t that natural?”_

Sad thing is you know it is. Logically, it makes hundred percent sense. Someone who has cherished the passion for something for the entire time span of their existence, suddenly giving up that love for someone who has randomly cropped up in their life? Is that even possible? Is that natural, expected? It isn’t. The image of the invisible fire crackling in his eyes during that match flashes in your mind; you can feel his love for volleyball in your heart almost—so much so is the intensity of it all. 

Yet strangely, despite understanding the validity of his words, emotions and to a certain extent his decisions too, you feel very, very unhappy about the situation that you find yourself in. _“Volleyball is my everything, I can’t choose anything else over it no matter who or what that is.”_ The words echo against your eardrums, rising above the loud sounds of the city. They echo and make your chest clench tightly in sadness. For a split second, you desire to wail and to cry. There’s no consistency to your thought patterns, maybe. But it also can’t be denied that you are sad. Awfully so.

Inside your being, there is the awareness of your position in all this. At second place, that is, even in the most ideal situation. Right now, you must be at the ninety-seventh or eighty-third place. Let soulmate bonds go to hell. This is the practicality. The truth. Yes, coming to terms with this is a tough job (that’s why maybe you’re suffering quietly inside) and at this moment, at this place, your heart is in vehement denial of it—war looms inside. The same, worn out train of thoughts goes round and round in your head tirelessly. Each time, the vicious cycle of overthinking is completed, the thoughts become more indistinguishable from each other.

Are you dejected? Yes you are. Do you understand that Kageyama loves volleyball more than anything else in his life? Yes you do. Do his words make sense to you? They do. Are you happy about this situation? You are not. Do you wish that it were not like this? Yes.

Are you already tired, even if it has been only a little more than a week since you met your soulmate?

You are.

“Oh, here are we!” 

The large art supply store emerges into your view with a few more steps. Kuroo’s proclamation seems to have woken you up (and you have a very shrewd idea that it was deliberate on his part—your quietness seemed to have given him the danger sign.) The sight of the store, however, lifts your mood considerably. As the doors open, with the first blast of cool air-conditioned air, the typical smell that hangs in the store hits you squarely. You breathe it in, and fill your lungs with the collective scent of pigments, brushes, paper and other stationery items in the store. If you are asked what is your favourite smell in the world, it will be this—this smell that is found among aisles decked with stationary and art supplies.

“I love this smell so much,” you whisper, filled with awe. Beside you Kuroo smiles and rolls his eyes.

“Get going, dumbass. We don’t have the entire day,” he says. “Don’t forget you’ve assignments to do.”

That’s how you spoil the mood. There was simply no need for him to mention the damn assignments of all things now. When you scowl at him yet again, this time fiercer than last, he only laughs lightly. “Come on,” he eggs you on.

For some time, browsing through the store effectively takes you away from the thoughts of Kageyama. While you busy yourself with inspecting brushes, and searching the specific colours you’ve run out on among the shelves, for a while, you feel better than what you’ve done in the last seventy-two hours. Humming a tune absentmindedly, Kuroo strolls behind, and gets told off every now and then by you for carelessly poking at something or the other. It’s what you call forgetfulness—a kind of escape from the issues that prickle away at the back of your mind. The quietness of the store too soothes your senses. It is better, way better than that crowded gymnasium you visited with Yachi. Only if you could’ve met your soulmate at an art supply store like this, or a bookstore, a café, hell, even a supermarket would do.

The second this thought roams into your mind, alas, the bubble bursts. You find your lips bending downwards yet again, as you pick out two tubes of burnt sienna from the shelf.

“Yes, nothing else really happened, Tetsu,” you mumble suddenly. His head whips towards you from the column containing shades in the ochre family. Brows furrowed, he inspects your face carefully for signs of mental upheaval. He discovers them easily of course.

“Tobio Kageyama, right? I played against him in highschool.”

“Yes, Keiji told that.”

“He’s a prodigy. Amazing skills. Super passionate about the sport. It’s only a matter of time that he becomes the best setter in Japan. From what I’ve heard he has already gone to Olympics. Can you imagine that?”

“It’s crazy right?” You smile cynically at the tubes of water colours that line the row. “Having someone like him of all people as your soulmate. It scares me.”

There’s silence between you for a while. Kuroo weighs the words you’ve just uttered and tailors his next statement with utmost care and finesse that has been born out of years of knowing you. “Y/n, tell me,” there is urgency in his voice, “what exactly did he say to you? You’ve been down in the dumps all this time.”

Your head falls back, and the white light from the lamps on the ceiling blinds you for a second or two. To say or not to say. At the end you release a sigh and confess. “Volleyball is my everything; I can’t choose anything else over it no matter who or what that is.”

“What?” Kuroo asks, bewildered.

“He said that,” you replied, “to me. When I told him I felt bad ‘cuz he didn’t reach out earlier.”

“Hey, hey, that’s messed-“

“It’s also not,” you cut across him. “He reassured me that he didn’t wish to hurt my feelings of course. I believe him, but then again…” Your voice trails away. Something blurs your vision.

You turn to meet your friend’s gaze. “I understand his point, Tetsu, but I also can’t be happy about it. I don’t know why.”

“You’re being tough on yourself again, Y/n,” he softly adds, taking away the tubes of paint away from your hand and depositing them in the cart. “No one will be completely okay after their soulmate says such stuff. At least, I won’t be.”

“He has his point though. It’s unrealistic to expect that someone will ditch what they have loved throughout their life for a random person. Will I give up on my career and passion for him? Of course not.”

“You’re not a random person. You’re his soulmate.” He sighs.

“Sometimes I wonder why we are soulmates. Are we even compatible?”

Kuroo looks away. Amber eyes stare away into space, wandering, searching for something hopeful that he might be able to offer you. But when there isn’t anything to be found, what will he do? So, he turns back to you with disappointment on his face. You know his answer even before he opens his mouth.

“Seriously, I don’t know. It just looks impossible right now.”

You do appreciate the honesty, but hearing the words coming out of someone else’s mouth, instead of inside your head, you realise, hurts ten times worse. The watery blur that blinded your vision has tragically receded, but you direly wish it didn’t. All you want right now is to break down and cry—whether your tears make sense or not, whether you ought to cry or not, let those worries go to hell. This situation doesn’t feel good in any way, no matter how realistic it is.

“Have you…spoken to him or texted him after that day?” Kuroo inquires tentatively.

“No.”

“You do have his number, right? And he has yours?”

“Seems so.”

“Y/n, stop thinking so much about it. You can’t do anything here.”

You shoot him a pathetically teary look, brimming with emotions and screaming out, ‘yes! I know!’ You do know you can’t do anything, that you’ll have to grit your teeth and stand through it all—that’s all you can do. “Even if someday things improve, I’ll always come second to volleyball for my soulmate. Tell me, Tetsu, is it wrong to feel sad about it?”

You watch as he visibly gulps. There’s that leaden silence again. Your tears now threaten to come out, but you forcibly hold them back. You can’t afford breaking down at a public place. Kuroo juggles his options inside his mind, before finally facing you, and with a feeble attempt at bravado, he says, “why don’t we check out the markers! I’ve always loved the markers section!”

He sends a pleading look your way, begging you to hold on. It’s for your sake, so for this once you swallow down your dejection and smile back at him. “Yes, let’s go.”

Nevertheless, before you exit the watercolour aisle, Tetsurou Kuroo, murmurs to you, in a reassuring whisper—

“It’s not wrong to feel sad, Y/n. It’s not wrong at all.”

.

.

.

At the end, the trip to the arts supply store, followed by your favourite coffee place a street away from the former, managed to improve your mood a little. As you trudge back home now, at least you’re smiling freely, the muscles of your face relieved of the melancholy-induced tension and listening to Kuroo’s endless collection of stupid yet strangely funny anecdotes from his college classes. The banter rejuvenates and prompts you to think less (as you should). Kuroo has just finished his joke of a story about some professor, and despite the lacklustre quality of humour (it won’t even make Akaashi smile) you start giggling lightly. In the quietness of the street the sound echoes sweetly, and maybe for a while you convince yourself that everything is fine.

For a while, that is.

“That wasn’t funny,” you announce. “I am telling you, step up your meme game as well. You’re not gonna make anyone fall for you that way.”

“But you did laugh, Y/n L/n,” he quips back light-heartedly. “If it wasn’t funny why did you laugh?”

“My brain is treating even your bad jokes as gold right now, it’s in a pathetic state.”

“I have told this countless times before too…you have crap taste. You won’t get my worth.”

“Oh just shut the-“

“L/n-san?”

You instantly freeze in your tracks. But along with your feet, your neck seems to freeze in place too. The arrival of the voice douses the warm, frothy mood with a clammy, damp coldness. Your face threatens to morph into a frown, and with a herculean amount of effort, you have to stop it from doing so. 

The misery that went to sleep for some time wakes up with ease and raises its head in your heart again. When you turn to look at him, you run into an odd mixture of what seem surprise and annoyance and disappointment on his visage. What is the meaning of that look? Before you open your mouth, nonetheless, Kuroo speaks up, clearly trying to keep the atmosphere as light as possible.

“Oh, if it isn’t Kageyama!” he greets cheerily. “Long time no see.”

“Kuroo-san…long time no see…I guess.”

“Hmm…why sounding so morose, huh?” he wheedles. “How’re you doing these days? Busy I guess?”

“Uh yes, league season is around the corner,” he answers stiffly. His eyes keep darting back to your form, restless and somewhat…questioning. “What about you, Kuroo-san?”

“I’m alright, I’m alright. Well, then Y/n,” he adds to you suddenly. Startled, you look around with alarm. “I’ll get going then.“ Your eyes turn to the size of saucers in shock, the instant these words leave his mouth. Foreboding and ill-natured panic creeps up your throat into your voice when you splutter out, “wait, what do you mean by that, Tetsu? Where are you going?”

The addressee chooses to ignore you and turns back to Kageyama who is staring with the early signs of a scowl on his face. “We’ll catch up, sometimes later, okay, Kageyama?” He slaps him on the back lightly, and Kageyama’s nascent scowl deepens finally.

“Y/n,” Kuroo calls out to you for one last time. You offer him an exasperated, what-the-hell-are-you-doing-mate kind of look, but he simply ignores it, and on a more serious note says, “look after yourself okay?”

“What are you doing you, jerk-” you begin, but are effectively interrupted by the words that your best friend shoots at Tobio Kageyama.

.

.

“Kageyama, drop Y/n, home ok? And you better not make her sad again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on tobios-queen.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

The silence that Kuroo leaves behind in his wake is heavy and sticky. A part of you wanted to yell out every cuss word you knew and hurl them at your best friend, but another (and greater) part was stunned into strange gratitude filled quietness. However, as the seconds tick away, and you watch his back fade into the darkness of the night eventually, realisation of how his words (despite being completely in your best interest) have left you in a super sticky spot dawns upon you. First and foremost, you were not at all interested to interact with Kageyama anyways, and secondly, now that Kuroo has announced the fact that you are totally not fine with the former being himself, the burden of cleaning away the mess and solving any misunderstandings, fall upon your shoulders.

And thirdly, you feel so tired.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, and try to brace yourself for the expected barrage of curt questions that is due to come from Kageyama. You wait for the latter to start the conversation and choose to stare away at the shadowy swings on the park that you have ended up halting next to. It’s only a matter of a few more seconds; _you should collect your thoughts…_

“What’s the meaning of that, tell me?” he fires at you, irritation and impatience everywhere in his words. “I made you sad?! Again? How? I don’t get it at all! No matter how much I try to understand and make sure this doesn’t get worse, it just keeps getting worse. Be honest, L/n-san, why did Kuroo-san say that?!”

Yes, this was what you needed maybe—to make yourself feel more terrible. How are you going to describe the conflicted thoughts and the weird emotions (that don’t make sense even to you, let alone to him) inside you? The frustration wafting off his frame clad in what seem his practice clothes, hits you hard across the chest. You can feel it, so very strongly. You do understand his position and point and his obvious lack of social finesse; why he is saying what he is saying.

But does that erase away the fact that you actually feel terrible about it? It doesn’t.

But do you also _expect_ yourself to understand? You do.

Can you _bring_ yourself to understand it, however, and wholeheartedly make peace with the fact that it’s okay that you’ll never ever become a priority to your _soulmate_ and that, if the situation arises, he will choose volleyball over you always? You cannot.

And do you fear that if you voice out your opinions, he’ll stop being himself, and hold parts of himself back even more (funny, as if you know _any part_ of him to begin with)?

In a very very ridiculous way, you do.

 _Stop overthinking, Y/n. He said you to be honest. Be frank then!_ It’s better for things to go wrong now than letting them stew and create a bigger mess later on. You turn to face him finally and then answer—

“See, Kageyama-san, I do understand that…er…you are bad with all these people stuff. More so with these things…soulmates and all. And I also get that you love volleyball a lot, that you want to play it as long as you want. And it’s your profession, you’re a celebrity and you have to give it importance of course. And, well, I get these…logically speaking that is.”

“So why are you sad then?” He frowns.

The dilemma raises its head in your heart again—how are you supposed to put your thoughts into words? They are already way too messy inside. How will you untangle them and weave them into a form that is coherent and easy to get across? So, closing your eyes, you try to gather them, and piece together your reply with care. The red string flashes yet again in that darkness, joining you to him; the sight as usual, sends shivers down your spine.

“See, even if I do understand where you are coming from, and wish to give you the space, it’s not like coming to terms with the fact that…I’ll always be an alternative, a second option to you in a way, is easy. It just doesn’t feel good you know. I am sure you won’t feel good had you been in my place too. It’s not to say that I expect you to leave everything for this thing, your passion, your profession—I don’t. But, you know what? I expected a little more enthusiasm. Maybe because I expected, that’s why I am hurt right now. I can tell that you are not used to dealing with these things…these matters of the heart. You said it’s not like you don’t care. I believe it. But when your soulmate, the person, unfortunately or fortunately I don’t know, you are stuck with for the rest of your life, says that you’ll never be a priority for whatever reasons there be…it doesn’t feel good. It just doesn’t. Even if it’s unrealistic for it to happen and it makes more sense _this_ way. That’s the most I can explain you see. I’m not very much at peace with all these things I’m feeling too. I wish things were not like this, but there’s nothing I can do. Because, as sad as it is, I do understand where you are coming from.”

You pause, nobody speaks for a while. He is wearing an odd expression and listening on with rapt attention. Before saying the next few things, your heart quivers with hesitation yet again. To say or not say…but at the end you do. Be as sincerely honest as you can be.

“I don’t want to push you either. I don’t want to make you feel that you’ll always have to be on your guard, that this thing is forcing you to do things you don’t want to. I don’t want you to burn yourself out because of this soulmate bond…ever. We aren’t even dating or something like that, and it’s just the start of things. The tip of the iceberg. I don’t know what to do really, Kageyama-san. This wouldn’t even have come up if Tetsurou had chosen to shut his mouth up—“

“That means you would’ve bottled everything up inside then?”

Your eyes widen instantly, and everything that you were about to say catches at your throat. Your thoughts dissolve away and re form anew, this time being full of wonder instead of agony. Your brain refuses to believe what your ear has heard, so you simply blink at him in pleasant disbelief. When you don’t respond, however,he takes it as his cue to continue. 

“I am bad at reading people’s feelings, and I suck at expressing mine to others. So, I think, if you are being honest like this, it’ll help avoid further misunderstandings and…other issues. I…. can’t take back what I said, really L/n-san, and you do get it. If I say stuff to make you feel better, and take back what I said in a form of apology, I don’t think I’ll be meaning that at all.it will be very insincere. 

"And, L/n-san I don’t want to be insincere or lie to you, when you are being so straightforward with me. But please know that, even if I can’t promise big things, or take back the words that made you feel bad…I don’t want to hurt your feelings." 

"I know,” you mumble, still dazed after hearing the words that have come from him. “But that doesn’t really change the situation does it? It's….the _situation_ that’s so shitty at the end. Why did it have to be like this…how is it supposed to work?" 

"I don’t know what you mean by "supposed to work”. Is there any need to rush? You said that we’d make it work. I am sure we can find something so that I can be myself and you will not be hurt too.“ 

“Right…”

Suddenly you feel so amazingly light-weight, as if you are a feather that’s floating along the wind. There’s a dizzying ecstasy boiling under your skin—even if nothing special has been said by him. It was the bare minimum, logical, necessary. But it made you feel better than you had in the entirety of the last week. Besides…it feels shameless to admit, but hearing him say that ‘we’ just caused your heart to flutter for a moment there. That’s right, you are in this soulmate mess together. Maybe you are not dating each other, but you are in it together, and so you have to solve this shit together too. Find a middle ground. 

He doesn’t understand of course, why you smile at him sheepishly like that—only his cheeks darken under the effect of a blush once again. You can be yourself here, he doesn’t mind—in fact, just like you, he prefers if you are being honest. It’s meant for the sake of practicality, but nonetheless, it’s meant, and spontaneously so. It shines a ray of hope on what otherwise would be a destined failure according to you. Maybe you should reflect a bit on whether this is completely unviable or not. 

“Come on, I have to drop you home too. And I don’t have the entire day,” he says brusquely. 

“It’s night moron.”

“What the…” 

He gives you an exasperated look, but you merely raise your eyebrows and shrug at him, before resuming the walk that paused a long time ago. A few steps pass in silence, and then he asks, voice suddenly sounding a tiny bit offended, 

“Is there something between you and Kuroo-san?”

“Huh?” you gape at him, taken aback. “He’s my best pal. Been so since junior high.”

“Oh.”

It makes you giggle, and the red under his cheeks intensifies. “I don’t think you are that bad at reading people…like bad bad, or dumb dumb. You suck, definitely. But you do not suck too, at least not everywhere. If you were that dense, you wouldn’t have asked this question. It wouldn’t have come into your mind anyways.”

“I play volleyball, as a setter, what do you expect?” he replies quietly. “I am not the best, but I am not a complete failure either.”

“I think I can agree to that though.”

“By the way, if you don’t mind me asking that is,” he starts, a bit unsure. You don’t know whether you’ll mind or not, given that you have no clue about what he is about to ask. But still you nod your head encouragingly. “What are those?” he asks, pointing towards the bag in your hand.

“Oh these!” You beam at him. “They are art supplies!”

“Art supplies…” His voice trails away and for some time he ponders on what you have just said wondrously. “That means…do you paint?”

“I do. I love painting.”

“I see.”

It’s an ‘I see’ but in tone and texture it sounds like a noiseless ‘wow’. The difficult mixture of tension and awkwardness is nowhere to be felt in the air now. And peacefully your shoes munch against the asphalt of the road side by side. He must have been out on a jog, or was running an errand earlier–he’s dressed in a light jacket in the colours of his team and sports shorts. It’s the closest you have seen him, and what was obvious even at a distance now stares at you straight in the face. In his muscular build, years of volleyball experience is gathered. This is the guy who is soon to become japan’s best setter (you remember the name of the position possibly only because akaashi used to play the same too), has gone to Olympics once (and will probably go again too) and has known Volleyball as the only love of his life, while you…

“Let me confess another thing, Kageyama-san,” you say abruptly. “I don’t know jack shit about volleyball.”

Revolted to hear such an uncouth string of words in the same sentence as his sport, he glowers at you nastily. But thinking that the earlier he gets to know of your ignorance concerning volleyball, the better it is, you stay put and unwaveringly stare away at the distance. 

"Kuroo-san’s your friend, but you still don’t?” he questions sceptically. 

“I was busy with studies and club activities in highschool.”

“Why were you at the match then?" 

"Well, Yachi dragged me,” you answer guiltily. “ _Dragged_ is not the correct word, though. I went along out of politeness…yeah, that’s more like it." 

He scoffs loudly on hearing your reply, and unable to think of a retort of any kind, you simply maintain your stare at the distance up ahead. If you squint, you are already able to spot the faint outline of your apartment building. The moment you see it however, your heart drops a little—for it means that this little, pleasant time is coming to an end. 

_Wait_

“So, you’re the goody-two-shoes type are you?” 

_When did I start…no, it’s too early to feel these things. Get a grip, Y/n._

“What?” 

He chooses not to reply, and wearing a smirk for-god-knows-what-reason, he adds, “Yachi-san used to be our manager in highschoo—“

“Yeah, she told me that before the game,” you cut across him, slightly irritated because he chose to dodge your question on purpose. You do know the meaning of goody-two-shoes. And truthfully, even if you know that you fall along those lines, at least in this matter you wouldn’t like to consider yourself so. It’s about being considerate. “And sometimes complying with others’ wishes, despite not being interested in something yourself is called respecting and being considerate of their feelings and sentiments.”

You come to halt, and he does too, looking a tad bit panicky. “Hey, did I say something wrong again?”

But you just smile in reply, for he actually didn’t say anything at all to upset you. Instead you point out your apartment and let him know, “this is my place. Thank you for dropping me.” 

“It’s alright.”

The conversation doesn’t drag on further, and as he watches you leave, a strange feeling emerges inside his chest. He is unable to tear his gaze away till he loses sight of your retreating back. This feeling is an odd something—it’s a bit akin to the crushing sense of disappointment that follows after a lost match, but only without the reassurance that there will be a next time. No, _damn it,_ it’s not like that either. It’s just something… _something_ he cannot remember having felt before. It’s a bit like fear too. Foreboding. Your words return back to his mind—the suppressed hurt in them dripping out among the syllables and smacking his psyche harshly. What he should do, what he should not, Kageyama doesn’t know. He simply _doesn’t_. But nonetheless, at a corner of his brain, he fears that he will mess up yet again. (He has already started to.) 

And issue is he can’t help it.

 _“And sometimes complying with others’ wishes, despite not being interested in something yourself is called respecting and being considerate of their feelings and sentiments.”_ He does suck at it, right? Even after all these years, his tendency of sometimes getting caught up in his own emotions and forgetting the rest doesn’t seem to have undergone a drastic change. They say he has grown, but these past few days have been making him doubt that. If he has he would have known what to do. _You_ would know what to do. Yes, that’s what sets you apart from him, that’s what makes you different from him. 

_We are so different._

You’re his soulmate true, but at this point it’s as good as being strangers—he barely knows anything about you. But he can tell, how you are way more put together than him. You are better with feelings and stuff, no matter how messy, how intense and how untranslatable they may be. You’re different, drastically so, from him. And you also…care, right? He can feel it. Already. Maybe a bit too much. You think too much too! There was no obligation on your part to put yourself in his shoes, and try to understand but you do anyway. And what does he do?

He can’t even bring himself to focus on the conversation with you, without his mind drifting back to volleyball every now and then.

Truthfully, he has never really cared or thought about this soulmate system, or _his soulmate_. Not that he hates it, but more like….he has never thought about it; it’s sort of unnecessary. And now he knows, you are not into volleyball either.

_How are we even…. soulmates?_

How are you supposed to stay with him, stick with him? Will you _try_ to stay anyways? Or will he be left behind? It’s not like him to get even this little bothered about all this, but…still he does. It’s been just a week; you’ve already been hurt. But what can he even do?! You’re not like anybody he has had to deal with till now, and you’re just so… _unlike_ each other; it’s not even like what it used to be with Hinata. 

You are from a different world altogether. 

Even if it was unintentional on his part, even if he can’t say he didn’t really mean them. It’s just…the problem with his personality. It’s not easy to lean on a person, who can’t help but be selfish time and again, right?

Selfishness huh? Is he?

Before Kageyama turns away, and begins his journey home, he snaps his eyes close once. For someone who has never actively thought about their soulmate, this alien itch to see the red of the thread felt too weird. But the sight of it causes his heartbeat to hasten for the smallest moment. It’s just the start and too early to be thinking these things. Nevertheless, a dispassionate voice inside his head says, if you do disown him someday, the blame will lie with him. 

No one leaves someone unless their feelings have been disregarded and manhandled beyond repair. 

(But can he say, he is ready to put away volleyball as his priority?

Never ever.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

The days dawdle on, torturously slow like that heat saturated breeze that visits once in a while during summer days. The cycle consisting of waking up, shoving some form of a haphazard breakfast into your mouth, lugging yourself to college, surviving the classes, assignments and readings before going to sleep at an ungodly hour as usual never seems to change. Nothing happens. Nothing changes. Your days go on like they have always done. Like how they used to before you met Tobio Kageyama, Schweiden Adlers, number twenty. 

If his ignoring you after that match felt bad, this must be hell, scoffing, you think to yourself scathingly. 

It was only the tip of the iceberg that waited under the cold, dark and salty waters of the sea. 

Putting yourself under the grindstone, you wish that pressure and packed schedules erase the scream of the hollowness inside your being. You pray that overwork might take you away from the awareness of his existence. You met your soulmate, you know that he exists. You know who he is; you know what his job is, what his passion is, and what his priorities are. And you also make yourself believe that you are not (and never will be, probably) among the things listed under those headings. 

And for a while you do succeed in forgetting about him. A peace of some sorts, albeit temporary does come to you at last. Everything finally seems to have returned back to normal, nice and distraction-free like they used to be. Few times you find yourself laughing hysterically at something random during your art circle meetings or a study session with your friends, all care about the world forgotten.

It’s nice. 

You feel okay, not the best, but okay—especially sometimes during lectures or at two in the morning when you are urgently typing down the last paragraph of your essay that’s due the next morning. (The calm before the storm that maybe you end up taking for granted)

But as soon as the bell tolls and you head over to the cafeteria for the free hour you have before the next class, and as you shut the laptop down, your eyes do glance longingly at the screen of your phone, always hoping for the same name to pop up there. But it never does. The messages say that the other person has read them, but chosen not to reply. So you sigh, and trudge on. And instruct yourself to understand. 

To swallow it all back like the bitterest pill you have ever tasted. What can you do? 

_Nothing._

You can do nothing but _tolerate._

If better, forget. But since that’s impossible, you try to divert your attention back to work. And maybe delude yourself that your soulmate either does not exist or you have never met him at all. 

_What else can you even do?_

It has been a little over two month since Kageyama walked you back home after Kuroo left you with him. So what are the developments that have taken place in the meanwhile? 

_Nothing_ , unless you count the increased length of the spaces without any form of interaction. 

On your contact list his number is there under the starting letter of his name. Without any embellishments, just there. Only once a week do you work up the motivation to text him a ‘hi’ or a conversation starter as dry as that. Most of the time, they are seen and not replied to, otherwise not opened at all. On the few occasions you have managed to converse, the talk merely lasted fifteen minutes at most. IF you ask him, why he didn’t reply, you always receive the same response.

_“I was busy.”_

He is always busy, you get it. And whenever he isn’t, he barely has the time to pursue chit-chat with you. Painfully, you get that too. After a few days of trying to initiate a conversation once every three days, you give up and reduce it to once every five days, and then to once every week. And lately, you haven’t been texting him at all. Even, talking to him feels draining, for when you do, your incompatibility stares at you in the face. You wrack your head for possible ways of keeping the conversation cheery, interesting and most importantly, alive. But you find none. And so they die. The radio silence returns. You keep checking your phone in between classes, for some form of friendliness from his side. You find none. Your days move on as they have always done. 

Everyday, before falling asleep you think to yourself, _“why are we even soulmates?”_

_I hate it. All of it._

So, you once again pick yourself up and gather fresh motivation to distract yourself from his thoughts. 

Do you hate _him_ , however? No, you don’t. (Although, keeping in mind the circumstances, you ought to. It would do you much better than _tolerating_ ). You have to; there’s no other way, you tell yourself. Can you drag him to dates with you forcefully, or guilt-trip him into sending you a good night text every day? 

Will making him spend time with you when he doesn’t want to bring you any kind of peace of mind? 

Will something as artificial and forced as that make you happy? 

Will getting in the way of your soulmate’s dreams and career sit well with you? 

_It won’t. It just won’t._

So, the routine repeats itself like it has always done. You try to make yourself stop thinking about him by overworking yourself to sleep every day. 

But on the unlucky days when stuff doesn’t go right (read: your attempts at temporarily forgetting about him fails) Kageyama slips in between the mundane of your everyday life. The image of his blue-eyed, black haired form floats into your mind at odd moments (and always accompanied by a tinge of bitter sadness and… _something_ that feels very much like longing). You find a tab playing a Schweiden match sitting right beside the open doc where you are supposed to type down this week’s homework. At this point, you have memorised the names and jersey numbers of all his teammates and what positions they play (and what are the roles of those positions) by heart. But does he even know anything other than your name and whatever you told him during that walk back home? 

Obviously, he doesn’t. He is a pro-volleyball player. He has a busy life. 

(And you are just his soulmate for the sake of it. Otherwise, you play no role in his life.)

_Is this how this soulmate stuff is supposed to work then?_

“Y/n?” 

You jerk awake from your reverie and snap your head towards Yachi, whose fingers have paused over the keyboard of her own laptop. She gives you the same tired and sympathetic look she has been giving you every now and then ever since you told her about what exists between you and her ex classmate. Also, apparently you realised that Kageyama found your phone number from her once she confessed the truth to you (but accompanied by a day’s worth of fervent apologies for sharing your number without your permission.) 

“You have been spacing out so much lately, you know,” she tells you, full of kind concern. She takes a glance at your screen and immediately you rush to close the window that has the match playing. But it’s no use, and your effort to cover up your budding (but very unwanted of course) interest in Tobio Kageyama’s affairs, goes completely in vain. Yachi heaves a sigh before letting her eyes return to the screen of her own laptop. 

“It’s Kageyama, right?” 

Admitting it is never among your first choices. Not when all he has been doing ever since he met you was to make you suffer, whether unknowingly or knowingly you don’t care, while you are left with no choice but to tolerate. But since it’s Yachi afterall, you do nod sadly, before pulling down the screen and letting your head fall agonisingly over it in utter defeat. 

“What should I even do, Hitoka?” you groan in dismay. “I hate all of this shit that’s been up ever since I met him. Neither can I completely stop thinking about him, nor can I make him do something other than ignore me. He doesn’t seem to care anyways. Like this, it was better if I didn’t meet him at all.” 

She hums thoughtfully for a couple of seconds, chin in hand. And then very abruptly and with a lot of conviction she turns back to you and asks,

“Do you mayhap like him—“

“Don’t,” you cut across her savagely, a look of pure disgust on your face. “Even talk about that. I don’t. And I don’t want to either.”

“But you do miss him?”

“It’s not missing, Hitoka,” you groan. “It’s more like I hate how he doesn’t care one bit about this soulmate stuff and all, and neither can I make him care, but very very tragically I am stuck with this dense as hell volleyball player dude forever, when I’d be way way happier with someone else possibly.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. We are not compatible. He is an ass, I am not.”

She sighs and smiles seemingly amused at your reaction. “Aren’t you a little bit too harsh on him, though? It will take time of course. It’s not like he hates you or the soulmate system or something.”

“Who knows, he might. I get he is acting like how it’s normal for him. And that brings me back to my point: 

“It’s never going to work when we are not even on the same wavelength—“

“ _Oh my! Did I hear that right?!!_ Something about soulmates, is it, L/n?”

Your and Yachi’s eyes drift towards the speaker almost immediately. Without as much as a prelude, she deposits herself on the seat opposite to you and the boy accompanying her follows suit and does the same. In the matter of only a few seconds, you are suddenly under the spotlight of two very curious pairs of eyes. Unsure of how much they heard Of your conversation (for god’s sake, you don’t want the news of your finding your soulmate to become public just yet) you gulp and mutter out, “hey Mei, Yusuke, what’s up?”

“ _W_ e should be asking you that,” Yusuke shoots back at you with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “I heard soulmates? Did anything happen, hmm?” 

“Nothing did,” Yachi promptly lies and you make a mental note to thank her later on. “We were just discussing views, that’s it. What happens if two soulmates are not mentally compatible.”

That is a tad bit too close to the truth, so maybe it’s not lying after all. Mei rolls her large black eyes and adds dismissively, “it’s never going to happen like that, Yachhan. Soulmates are chosen so that they are compatible. They just click!” 

This time, you have the urge to roll your eyes instead. But since you have taken the decision to shut up about your soulmates-related issues, you can only nod your head morosely and swallow her opinion, which you do not agree with, bitterly. If you could, you would’ve given Mei a detailed account of what has happened with you in the last three months or so, refute her and prove her wrong; that, no! Soulmates do not click always! 

But the thought stays inside your mind only anyways. 

“While we’re on the topic of soulmates, then,” Yusuke chirps, “let’s tell you why we’re here to bother you first of all. There’s going to be a small party tonight and we’d like you to join us, L/n.”

The bi monthly parties of the art circle are not a new thing, but seeing you getting invited to one after continuously refusing their offers during the initial part of the session, feels odd. With eyes mildly widened in surprise, you offer them a curious look. “A party? Why?”

“And that’s where the soulmate part comes in!” Mei supplies excitedly. “So it just goes like this…Aya-chan found her soulmate some six months ago, and now since they’ve decided to get engaged, they’re throwing a party. Her soulmate’s super rich, so yay, his dad is paying and it’s just no-bars-held fun for us! If we are lucky enough there’s going to be a few more like this so… _time to let our hair down_!” she says rapidly and excitedly in what seems a single breath. 

“Wait wait.” So much in so little time. “That’s too fast! It’s just been six months and, and…they’re too young. Almost the same age as us. What if it goes wrong?”

“It won’t L/n. They are soulmates remember,” chimes in Yusuke

“But to get engaged-" 

“Besides, when it’s true love, what does it matter if it’s fast or not. They are anyways going to be with each other forever,” emphasises Mei. “So are you coming or not?” 

A weird dryness settles into your throat, all words eaten up and banished into nothingness. Her statements don’t make sense to you. Not one bit. You hear them, but you don’t get them. What’s even the meaning of all this? 

Well, being soulmates does signify true love. But still…at this point, it seems like something too far, too out of your reach. Something impossible. No matter what it’s supposed to mean, you can’t wrap your head around it. And you feel sad, unfairly so. You are envious, you realise. Happy soulmates…soulmates that click, whose frequencies match…all of it chokes your insides up with bitterness. _Is it only me that’s this unlucky then?_

Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t you have had a better soulmate? 

"I don’t think so. No,” you decline the offer with a polite but sad smile. A party celebrating soulmates? No, that’s not your place to be. The thought even makes you want to puke in disgust. 

“Huh? You’re not coming? Geez, I was hoping you would.” Mei pouts. “What about you, Yacchan? Want to come?" 

"Eh, no!” Yachi denies sheepishly,“I am still underage you see." 

The pout on Mei’s face morphs into a scowl and with a dramatic sigh of disappointment, she says, "you too? Man, wish you could join though. But it’s ok, I can’t force you if you are underage right? But Y/n L/n-” she turns to you and fires a glare your way, “you can look away from that laptop screen of yours for once. Come on, you might even find the fated one? Who knows?” she ends in a sing-song voice that instantly makes you want to scream. But you shut up (albeit with a lot of difficulty) and tear your gaze away. 

“Alright girl, I’ll think about it." 

_Fated one huh? It would have been way better if I hadn’t met him. I would be happier right now._

"Brilliant!” She claps her hands in victorious excitement. “Drop me a text when you are ready to leave. We’ll pick you up on our way there." 

Begrudgingly, you nod your head obediently. Only you know how much this conversation is draining you. Everything you fear, everything you don’t want to think about being dragged and mockingly brandished in front of your eyes. Rubbing salt on your bleeding red injuries. 

"Oh, by the way, L/n,” Yusuke says after a pause and you look up to meet his eyes instead. “Can I ask you for a favour? My soulmate saw some of your art on instagram and now she wants you to paint a portrait of sorts of her. Ah, this must be really sudden, but she just loved your style so much—" 

"Message me a reference,” you promptly answer, mustering a plastic smile. “I’ll do it." 

Things that would have never made your chest prickle before now give birth to the pain of knife stabs in your heart. _Why._ The world refuses to look the same. You cannot wholeheartedly congratulate your friends when they have found their soulmates and feel happy for them. All of it seems cursed. Messed. 

"That’s so nice if you L/n!” he thanks you, “thanks a bunch." 

"It’s no problem." 

.

.

.

_I can tolerate it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on unkahee.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

The next morning you wake up to a horrible hangover and Yachi’s loud knocks on your front door at eleven thirty in the morning. When you panic after seeing the time, she hastens to remind you that it’s Sunday so you needn’t worry: you have not missed out on any classes. However, as the hours roll out one by one and the sun begins to set after reaching mid sky, you realise that all the alcohol that you’ve poured into your system last night has amounted to nothing at the end. Just nothing.

Along with the pain in your body, comes the pain in your heart. 

Mei’s words from last day still echo inside your head. An irritating tape recording which you would prefer not to listen to and yet at the same time which speaks the truth that you are somehow trying to deny. In this world, you are taught to venerate the soulmate connection from the moment you develop conscious thought. Meeting one’s soulmate is considered to be the biggest milestone of your life. Soulmates are supposed to click from the get go itself. Soulmates _do_ click from the get go itself, at least generally. Or as far as you know.

That thin red string, extending out from your little finger in the dark and disappearing away into empty space, accompanies you from the very second you are born. It’s something only you ( _and_ your soulmate) can see. A precious, sacred bond. Of course seeing a person on the other end of the thread whose sight was only privy to you, must be a special feeling altogether. Something indescribable. 

Now it’s not just you, but someone else too…you can see the magical red string _together_. When you close your eyes, you are no more alone with the vivid red in that ominous darkness: someone else is joined to you too. You are lonely no more. A connection with the promise of a forever and true love and happiness. It’s special like that. Sparks are thus naturally expected to fly. 

But _do_ they always fly? 

_They don’t_ , you answer yourself. 

The words leave a bad aftertaste on your tongue and spoil your overall mood. You discover yourself cursing at the eggs on your apartment’s kitchen counter that have tragically turned out to be rotten. Are you and Kageyama then one of those infamous soulmate couples that end up divorced at the end because no matter how hard they try, it refuses to work? Should you already give up all hope of this thing making a little bit more sense?

_Wait…when did you get your hopes up about this thing? From when…did you want to…_

_No_

_It’s not like that_ , you correct yourself. It’s just your disappointment with how all this has turned out to be. None of these were a part of your childhood fantasies about meeting the destined one. Yes,almost everyone in a way or other expects (very _stupidly_ ) that their lives will turn full of fun and excitement after they meet their soulmate. You are no exception (although, three months ago you would have never admitted that). 

_Good. It’s too early to be developing all these feelings. Besides…_

_Feelings for him? Impossible_

Had you not been soulmates, you would have never ever chosen to be with Tobio Kageyama of all people of course. 

.

.

.

Your afternoon passes quietly as you bury yourself in studies. But as the day drifts into dusk and then evening, boredom crashes onto you like a truckload of trash. Fiddling around inside your room, screwing with the paint and brushes—nothing really makes up for the dullness that is consuming you. An empty head is the devil’s workshop. Lesser the number of occupations you have, the more the thoughts in your mind will wander towards that old worn out line of thinking that you rather not go down again. 

You hate how Kageyama keeps coming back to your mind. 

So at six thirty in the evening, you lug yourself and your laptop to Yachi’s flat next door. She greets you, weary eyed and messy haired. Obviously, her assignments and readings for the week have not been done yet. 

Talk ensues. The minutes pass by more companionably than in your room. But irritatingly, very very irritatingly your mood keeps plummeting every now and then. _Stop thinking, you tell yourself. It’s too much._

_Stop thinking about him, about this soulmate bullshit. It’ll be the best for you._

Nevertheless, nothing really escapes Yachi’s perceptive eyes. When she catches you staring away, doleful, at the printed pages of her essay for the third time in a row she decides to speak up. Her voice comes out as understanding and patient, but seasoned with a bit of sterness. 

“You’re thinking too much about it, Y/n." 

Almost as if you were expecting this interjection, you mutter out, "I know." 

Silence falls into the room. Yachi has stopped typing and the monotonous clicking of the keyboard disappears, leaving behind a weird sort of quietness. You can feel her observant and pondering gaze on your form. And maybe that is why you decide to keep yours turned away from hers. You’d rather not look. 

"Y/n, I know it must be difficult,” Yachi begins carefully after a few seconds, “and in no way am I claiming to completely understand what you are going through. I don’t know what I’d have done had the same happened with me…to have a soulmate who doesn’t apparently care about you or this bond one bit. But from the point of view of an outsider, a third person let me tell you one thing. 

"Maybe you’re dwelling too much on the things that are _not ok_. I don’t think you and Kageyama are a total failure." 

This makes your head turn towards her, a little surprised and little (unnecessarily) full of fresh anticipation. As much as her words have explicitly put down a finger on the big problem with your thought process, it has also given you a ray of hope. 

“Think about how it can work. You don’t even know each other that much. If you get to know each other better, maybe it will work.”

“I get you. But, I don’t know given how much I have seen of him, I’ll even like him like that or not,” you admit. “Never thought a volleyball player would be my soulmate. He’s…at first sight, not really my type. And besides he loves to pretend I don’t exist–”

“There. You’re again thinking about what’s wrong,” Yachi cuts across you. But when you frown, she smiles at you faintly. “Think about how it can work. Maybe you don’t know the parts to his personality that actually make you compatible as soulmates. 

“That red thread exists between you two for a reason.”

Opening your mouth with the intention of retorting, you however find yourself at a loss of words. If you are being honest to yourself, you _are_ sort of dwelling too much on the issues. There are parts to his personality that you of course don’t know, and if you do get to know them, you might find this a bit easier to work with. Yachi has a point. You need to get to know each other…

_But how?_

_Do you even want to do it?_

_Are you willing to spend time with him to get to know him?_

_What am I even thinking? Wasn’t I disappointed with all this? Then why does the thought of spending time with him feel so…so…repulsive?_

_Is it because I know he is not the type to care about soulmates spontaneously? Does that put me off? Did I expect someone warmer?_

“Then tell me, how do I do it?” you ask her, although at a corner of your mind you already know the answer. 

(and you also know how that answer will make you scowl lightly, leave an unsavoury impact on your brain initially and yet at the same time make you feel childishly hopeful. You know the reply, so you know how your heart will react.)

“Go out on a date. You’re soulmates right? Maybe you’ll find the spark that has been missing.”

A dreamy, fantastical idea and an abhorrent concept at the same time. Your pride is against admitting that you feel the tiniest bit warm inside at the thought of going out on a date with Tobio Kageyama. And your stubbornness asks you to stick to the idea that you are incompatible, that he is not your type at all (your type would at least give a damn about you). 

Still, you wonder what it would feel like. After all, soulmates mean that sense of security right? That _this person will one day be there for me when nobody is_ , a pair of hands to catch you when you plummet from the skies and protect you from crashing headfirst into the hard ground. That’s the connotation associated with that bisyllabic term: s-o-u-l-m-a-t-e-s. It’s the longing born from that hope of a tender yet fiery loyalty that lives in that word, in the red of that thread that you can see in the dark. 

But for a moment you tuck it away, and reply, scoffing, “a date? See, I don’t think I am ready yet to call him…er…my boyfriend, or say that I am seeing him. A date would imply I am interested in him romantically, which sorry to say I am not.”

“I was just suggesting a possible way to solve your problem.”

“I am not asking him out or something.”

“But if you don’t give it a chance, it would never work out. You do want it to work right? You don’t want to stay stuck in this hollow cycle of having your texts left on read, right?”

_I don’t. I want us to be like normal soulmates. I want to make myself believe that somehow he is my type and that I can grow to like him at some point._

_But will trying to do that burn me out? For, as of now, trying to talk to him has been like trying to talk to a brick wall._

“Right. But…will he even agree to it?”

“You can only try your best.”

(flicker of a fear that you thought had died peeps into your being. You are reminded of a few things that had progresse like this, and then how trying to give your best led you to the precipice. Is this the right way to go about it, you think to yourself for the umpteenth time. But you shut your eyes, and shut these ideas away again. It’s better not to think.

it’s a different time)

“Yeah, I get it,” you mumble, before adding, “And you know what, Hitoka, I’ll just go and try to sleep now. Need distract myself from all these.” You get up from your seat. 

The mood shifts. She rises up following you. “Oh, you’re going already?” she asks, surprised. 

“Uh, yes. Thanks for the company.”

“Don’t mention it,” she shakes her blonde head. “And Y/n,” Yachi goes on, tentatively, “it’s just…whatever I told you, it’s out of your best interest. I Have known Kageyama-kun since the first year of highschool. I want all this to work out too.”

Gratefully, you offer her a grin before putting your shoes on and stalking away back to your room. The peculiar smell of strawberries and freshly printed paper that is always there at Yachi’s place is replaced by the lingering pungence of the rotten eggs you ran into this morning in your apartment. It’s like walking back into the gloomy, dampy reality from a temporary refuge in socialising as a distraction. You fall onto your bed and the groan of bedsprings fill your ears. 

It’s against your pride to even try to text Kageyama, let alone ask him out on a date. 

But your hand does inch towards your phone and then picks it up. On the contact list, there’s his name, under the starting kanji of his name, without any embellishments. Just there. 

It’s against the voice of stubbornness to even try to repair whatever this is. You want him to do something this time. 

But truth be said, you know that if you wait for that something, it’ll never really come. So soundlessly, you tap on the contact. 

Your heart launches into an unwanted gallop as his phone rings on the other side. Once, twice, thrice, ten times. 

He doesn’t pick it up.

When your first call is not received by Kageyama, a weird adamance takes birth inside your mind. Once more you tap on his name in the contact list. On the other side, his phone rings merrily yet again. Once, twice, thrice, ten times. 

Once again, he refuses to pick up. 

After a gap of five minutes you find yourself trying on his number again, even if just a little while ago, after your second failure you told yourself to tuck the phone away. He doesn’t even deserve to be asked out. But God knows what it is that keeps drawing you back to that call button on your phone’s screen. You hope, honestly. You hope that you can make it work if you try a little harder. Just a little bit more. 

But the phone rings and still nobody answers you. 

The failures pile up one by one. And the admance which kept you at this so far futile routine morphs into worry little by little. _Why isn’t he picking up? Did something happen?_

Anxious thoughts roam into your mind as responses to these queries. Your head begins to fill with that confused buzz that doesn’t make sense; there’s a ringing sound in your ears. Every time you try calling him you are met with failure. No reply arrives even to your texts. 

_Is he busy? Is everything okay?_

This isn’t the saga of a hero—the option if giving up is always more alluring and easily, the most chosen one in situations like this. Even after you plop down onto your bed and decide to call it a day, your heart keeps racing, your tired eyes stubbornly stick to the phone’s screen, in hope that some response, some emotion arrives from the other side. Some minor gesture of friendliness, a shred of care. Missed calls and unread texts do show up on his phone, right? 

_Stop it Y/n, this won’t get you anywhere. This is not supposed to work anyways, he doesn’t care, why are you keeping your hopes up?_

Keeping one’s hopes up, huh…the perfect formula for bringing about more disappointment onto yourself. 

You don’t know at what o’ clock you fall asleep. But you do remember that before you finally dozed off, the blue light of your phone’s screen shone upon your eyes for one last time, clutching on to that tiny, desperate hope, you had wished that he did something, said something which proved the forebodings in your heart wrong. 

Heavy bitterness pours into your being, and then clots, unmoving, unaltering and hard–a leaden weight. It infects your muscle fibres with lethargy and drains you of every shred of liveliness. What are you supposed to do right now, in this state? Cry? This was born as a broken thing, and your attempts at bringing the pieces a little closer, goes in complete vain each time. You are only left with the desire to take yourself further and further away, till you go out of touch with all of this. 

But unfortunately, doing so will push the pieces further apart. 

.

.

.

Yes, the first thing that you do after waking up the next morning is to check your phone. However the rush of going to college, keeps you away from indulging in your endeavours towards contacting your soulmate. It’s only five minutes prior to leaving your place do you glance at the phone again and once more hope (in a way that keeps getting wearier and wearier with every step) that there’s at least some sign from the other side. But as usual, you are heartbroken to discover none and for one last time, you promise to yourself, you tap on the call button.

The phone rings once. Twice. Thrice. Four Times.

On the fifth one, he at last picks it up. 

(But you have lost even the enthusiasm with which you started this. I won’t ask him out or smething, you had said to Yachi. Guess, you shouldn’ have even tried to.)

“Yes, it’s Kageyama”

The nonchalance in his tone transforms your disappointment into bitter fury in a snap and steeling your voice, you say, “it’s L/n, Kageyama-san. Is everything alright with you?”

You can almost picture him scrunching his brows up at the other side. “Yes. Why do you ask? I’m alright.”

Breathing in deeply, you reply, “I called you some eight-nine times last night. Why didn’t you reply?”

“Why didn’t I reply?” He almost sounds offended now. “I was tired, okay. I was not in a position to chat with you.”

“You’re busy, you’re tired…at least drop me a message or something. Don’t you think it could’ve worried me? IT’s basic courtesy to reply when someone calls you so many times!!”

“See, I told you I was tired. Why don’t you try to understand? It’s league season, I am a professional volleyball play–” he starts irritably, only to be cut across by your impetuous words. 

“Yes, only _I’ll_ try to understand. When you… _you_ will go on about your business as usual, act as if I don’t exist. Alright, you said you were bad with feelings. I get that. I am not even asking you to take the initiative, I’ll do it all! 

“But at least respond.”

“What are you…why are you saying all this all of a sudden, L/n-san,” he exclaims. “I don’t understand it all! I told you I was busy, I was tired! I have a life too, you can’t expect me to suddenly become all lovey-dovey with you do you–?”

“I don’t Kageyama-san, I don’t. But you are unfortunately my soulmate. Why don’t you get it?! I am stuck with you forever!! But you just don’t care…what am I going to do after knowing that?! That my soulmate is not willing to make things work, and is better off forgetting that I don’t exist!”

“See, I told you it’s not like that–”

“It _is_ like that,” you say coldly. This is so tiring, all of it is so tiring. You wish you would’ve never met him at all. For one second, the static is all that is there between you. And then, exhausted and dejected, you spew out the next words like some toxin.

.

.

“Sometimes I wish we were not soulmates, Kageyama-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on unkahee.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ««« a red thread, which can only be seen when one closes their eyes, connects you to your soulmate »»»

There’s silence inside the four walls of his room again; that is, silence except for the ghost of your voice throbbing against his eardrums. The phone in his hand suddenly seems to weigh a ton. He stares away at its darkened screen as if it contains the key to decipher your weirdly cryptic words. Also, He doesn’t understand why he is so bothered by it all—it’s not like he was ever invested into this soulmate culture to begin with. But still, for once, something that is remotely far away from volleyball is eating away at his brain and truth be said, it’s also something that he doesn’t know how to deal with. 

_This miniature cyclone that seems to be raging through his heart and also…_

_…this entire event of discovering his soulmate. Both._

Slowly, Kageyama settles down at the edge of his bed, plucking the towel from his head and putting it down at his side. But he doesn’t dare keep down the phone. Trepidation quakes his chest a little bit, when he checks the texts you sent last night, which he did know were sent, but he had chosen not to open and check them. He scrolls down his call log, and finds your numerous missed calls. He thinks back to the reason why he refused to call you back, the tired ache in his muscles and the exhaustion draining his body. It should be a reasonable enough explanation. 

Then why does he feel bad? 

You said you were worried when he didn’t pick his phone up. _Why?_

_“When you…you’ll go on about your business as usual, act as if I don’t exist.”_

Does he? He racks his brain and jots down all the instances whence he shared some or other form of interaction with you (it even surprises him, that he remembers all of them). What has made you feel that way? Does he really act like you…don’t exist? Is he that careless? That absentminded? 

_Why am I even thinking this much…what does it matter? Besides, they were things she said when she was mad. It’ll be alright later._

Will it be really?

_“I am not even asking you to take the initiative, I’ll do it all. But at least respond.”_

_Respond, right?_

Yes, he does place more importance to his career, to his sport—it’s his passion and profession. He wants to keep playing volleyball forever, give his best, and if be, be the best for as long as he can. What if he prioritized his love for volleyball and his busy schedule more than sitting down to talk with you? Is it wrong? Is he not allowed to love what he loves freely? Does he not have boundaries? Everyone is not the ooey-gooey soulmate that will fawn over their other half like a love-struck idiot. 

Soulmates, huh?

You sounded so hurt when you said that. Will he pretend he didn’t hear that pain in your voice when you told him that? Of course not, the voice of his conscience whispers. He might have been better off pretending he hadn’t, but since he does, it hurts him too. There’s a spark of regret in his heart at this admittance. _Why though…_

It’s because nobody would like to hurt another person that they barely know, who is almost a stranger to oneself deliberately, right? It’s just that much and nothing else. 

_“At least respond.”_

If asked, Kageyama knows, he won’t be able to describe the hell that he is going through right now; the war between thoughts, the cluelessness he is feeling at being left in this strange spot. It came so suddenly, without the trace of any clue–and hit him, you and your tempestuous emotions. He is bad with dealing with his own emotions and articulating them as it is, but to deal with yours? And the accusations that you made? How can he even do that! All this soulmate nonsense has been taking up too much of his time and headspace lately, and then you come up with all these things one fine morning and bombard them at him without a care in the world, and expect him to instantly make sense of everything. 

Aren’t you his soulmate? Then aren’t you supposed to click? Your thought patterns should complement each other’s, you should get where he is coming from naturally, without exerting yourself and he should be able to find some meaning and coherence in your actions. But he doesn’t find them. You can’t get him, even if you try. Frustrated, Kageyama shuts his eyes close and collapses onto the bed; this is so tiring. Honestly, you are not alone in thinking it, he wonders it too–especially, at moments like these. 

_Why are we even soulmates?_

But the moment these words form inside his head, something cracks. Bountiful feelings of hurt descend onto his being and settle down. For the words remind him of what you had said before abruptly ending the call. A part of him tries to childishly prevent the statement from replaying in his mind in your voice–because he knows repeating the scenario over and over again mentally will only bring about more pain. It already hurts so much to think that you said that of all things 

“Sometimes I wish we weren’t soulmates, Kageyama-san.”

Why? Is he that bad a person? What would make you say that? Don’t you see that he is trying his best out here despite not being really interested in these soulmate affairs?! Why would you say that? Why would you disown him, already? 

Why?

And you sounded just so hurt too…did he hurt you that much then? Is asking for some personal space and expecting you to understand too much then? He has just not answered your calls because he was tired, he wasn’t in the proper headspace to do it! Why does his being himself end up driving you to this point? What is it that was miscommunicated? Where did he mess up again? 

_We are not compatible._

_I don’t get her and whatever she does at all. Why would someone do it?_

As if in an attempt to clear his head of these jamming, whirring thoughts, Kageyama turns to his side; the bedsheet crumples up inside his grip, the frustration and tiredness he feels leaking out through his fingertips into the material reality. This is not like him either, he doesn’t overthink like this normally–this going round and round in circles and never ending up at point. _Calm down, collect your thoughts_. He breathes in deeply then lifts himself up from the bed. 

For now, it’s better to let things be. Misunderstandings…come naturally as a part of growth. And right now, if he tries to arrive at an answer, he will only end up working himself up unnecessarily. All the thinking and analysing and reflecting will amount to nought. Stressing over problems make them even more difficult to solve, you have to be able to think straight if you want to get the results you desire.

The clock on his phone says it’s already time for him to leave for practice. Heck, if he leaves for the gym now, he will anyways be a couple of minutes late. Enough overthinking for a single day. For god’s sake you don’t make any sense to him easily at all.

 _“Sometimes I wish we were not soulmates.”_ A stone drops into his stomach yet again, making him scowl.

_Oh, shut up._

.

.

. 

He expected that given some time, these issues will solve themselves automatically, without his having to exert much effort. But actually, they don’t. Like stubborn ink that has dropped onto white fabric, it refuses to go away—thoughts of you and your words, emotions and entire…existence that he finds simply incomprehensible. And also incoherent.

_Why?_

He thinks. He has already thought, but he still thinks—as logically and clearly as he can manage. Is it really his fault then? Well he should have replied to you, granted. Maybe received your calls and given you some form of a reply. Yes, he made you wait the length of an entire night, some eight to nine hours. But in defence, he can say that he was dead tired that day. Volleyball, is something that consumes a lot of energy and stamina, doesn’t it? If he was not in the proper headspace to reply and decided to make you wait till next morning and even gave you a clear cut explanation, what’s _wrong with that_? How much more does he need to do as someone who is simply not interested in these matters?

He doesn’t really know what is wrong with it. Maybe you expected him to be more…er…enthusiastic about it. But he is not, he cannot be.

However, he still feels bad, very much so. Even if according to him, his actions were fairly reasonable. It’s those words you spit out at the end that keep haunting Kageyama’s mind , those words that were dripping with what is unmistakably bitterness—enormous amounts of it. _“I wish we weren’t soulmates.”_ To what point does one need to be driven for words like that to come out. _When did I do something that brought the situation to this place?_

_Can it even heal back?_

Since he is unable to think up something useful in regards to looking for a solution, the next possible plan of action would be to ask for help. But…this is…something that’s worlds away from the sphere of volleyball; _who_ on earth is he supposed to go to with this?

One by one, inside his head, he strikes off the names of the people he knows who might be of help in any way. He considers his teammates. Ushijima? No, he will probably be as clueless as he is. The captain? No, he seems too far away to be approached, especially in case of…uh, emotional matters like this. (why is he even having to deal with all this shit?) He thinks hard and long, scrunching his blue eyes shut to enhance concentration. Who can help him out, whom indeed…

_Wait-_

It’s been awhile that he has spoken to his senior, but the very moment Sugawara’s name pops up into his brain, the answer to his question grows clear as daylight. He immediately realises that there’s no other person better suited to help him out. Albeit bringing up the topic and explaining it will be hellishly difficult, and well, definitely awkward. But that’s far far better than going round and round in hopeless circles inside his head.

The faster this shit is solved, the better it is. It will be weird talking about it (hell, no one even knows about you till now) but it’s of course worth a try.

.

.

“Oh god, look at you all grown up. It makes me emotional.”

His brown eyes twinkle with the familiar knowing light, as if he already knows more than him, even if it is Kageyama, and not his senior who is riding the emotional rollercoaster. Breathing in deeply, Sugawara crosses his arms on the other side of the screen and then fixes him with a solemn stare.

For a moment he feels like being x-rayed under his gaze.

“Kageyama, it’s obvious isn’t it? You’ll have to apologise to her.”

He can feel his face bend into a small scowl automatically, as if of its own accord. The idea does sound unreasonable in his head but hearing it come from his senior also makes him consider the validity of his logic for a split second.

“Why? I had my reasons for not receiving her calls,” he scoffs. “And besides, doesn’t everyone have something called personal space.”

Kageyama watches Sugawara smile gently on the screen, as if he has known that he would give this reaction all along. “Yes, of course you had reasons; you should always have your boundaries. But you know what Kageyama? Sometimes you need to get out of your comfort zone, for the sake of others.”

Once more. Once again there was that _‘for the sake of others’_ bullshit. Is this a team sport he is playing here? Does he even want to treat you as a teammate? For what reasons? Just because you’re his soulmate doesn’t mean you automatically become a priority to him! What’s so difficult to understand about that?

_“But you are unfortunately my soulmate. Why don’t you get it?! I am stuck with you forever!!”_

“You can’t just expect me to develop all kinds of loyalty and things for her. How can I? She’s as good as a stranger now,” Kageyama says in a low voice, as if almost to himself. But inside his heart, deep down inside, he feels these arguments are rather weak. It doesn’t sit right.

_“But you just don’t care…”_

The way he is sticking to his point just out of sheer stubbornness, does make your claim appear true. If he does everything keeping in mind only his selfishness, it’s the same as not caring at all.

Question is, does he care? Or does he _want_ to care?

_“Sometimes I wish we weren’t soulmates”_

“You’re not likely too as well. But as yourself, are you completely okay with her being hurt and frustrated with your behaviour like this? At the end, you’re stuck with each other as L/n says. She’s just trying to make it a little bit easier, but you’re not cooperating at all.”

Is all of it really his fault then?

_“Sometimes I wish we weren’t soulmates.”_

Why does this hurt him so much? It’s not like his heart belongs to you, but it still might feel you’ve successfully broken it.

Already disowned him.

You don’t want to stand at his side. And at the end…is that again…again his fault?!

This sense of overwhelming loneliness that looms over him. He doesn’t get it. Just bitterness churns at the bottom of his stomach.

“I am…not cooperating? How?”

_Am I really being self-centred in this one again?_

Half a moment of silence stretches out between him and Sugawara. The latter hangs his head in deep thought and considers his words solemnly for a while; Kageyama watches, his breath heavy and tiring—he doesn’t really remember when he last felt like this. This feeling of helplessness that is prickling his existence too much.

“ Try to understand it from L/n’s perspective—put yourself in her shoes. Unlike you, who never gave the existence of this soulmate connection much thought, she has grown up to have certain expectations out of this bond like most of the people. What do you think the term _soulmate_ means? Someone who is willing to be there beside you through thick and thin, someone with whom your wavelengths will match on a different level altogether,” Sugawara explains steadily and patiently. “When feeling lonely, so many close their eyes to just see the red of the thread. I’ve done it myself! There’s something attached with the word itself. For most that is. Exceptions are bound to exist, but it doesn’t appear to me from what you’ve told, Kageyama, that your soulmate, Y/n L/n is among those exceptions. She’s just too disappointed and frustrated about all of it.”

“Okay.”

“Also look at it in this way. You’re a setter. Say, you’d like to try a new move that you’re sure would boost the team’s performance which, let’s consider, has hit a bad slump. Now, to execute this attack, you need a lot of practice with the spiker. But your attempts at communicating with the spiker, despite giving it your best, go in complete vain. Your enthusiasm is met with silence and coldness. The team’s performance continues to suffer, and you’re forced to watch it all happen painfully, because even if you do know the solution to it, the one with whom you’ll have to work together to make it work doesn’t listen and goes on minding their own business, just because it’s more comfortable for them. It’s the same, except, instead of you, it’s your soulmate.”

“ _Oh_ ”

The dots light up and get connected one by one, and the puzzle pieces come together in his head. Something seems to have been lifted off his shoulders, off his chest, off his heart. Something simple instead replaces the unaccustomed confusion that has been quietly eating away at his mind—it’s guilt, and a need to apologise to you immediately. It all makes sense now, your feelings that poured out, the words you uttered. He understands it finally, and now he knows

He is the one who is making things that are already difficult, more so. 

This thought however momentarily makes his stomach lurch. 

_No one can blame her for saying that, I guess._

Granted, you’re a bit difficult yourself, but to be in that position is something else. 

_And she had expectations too._

_“There’s something attached to the word itself."_

_Stupid._

"Does it make sense now then, Kageyama?” Sugawara asks, looking smugly victorious. 

“It does. Thank you,” he bumbles out, still a bit dazed. 

“Also,” suddenly, it seems his senior’s demeanour has changed, “take it as another advice from your senpai. If you do apologise to her at the end, ask her out on a date too—" 

"What?!" 

Kageyama can feel the temperature of his face rising reflexively at the mere mention. His eyes widen in sheer shock and flabbergasted, he just gapes at his senior, who rolls his eyes tiredly. 

"You push her to the point of making her doubt this entire soulmate bond and wish you weren’t her soulmate. A date is the bare minimum." 

"But I-” he sputters out, “I don’t know anything about dates or anything!! And it’s not like, ugh, I-I l-like her or something! Why a d-date?! Won’t that imply we…we…I just _…no_!" 

Sugawara’s hearty laugh echoes through the speakers as with a violent scowl on his face, Kageyama watches the other guffaw at his obvious cluelessness. 

"You’re soulmates! Don’t be an idiot, Kageyama. And just think up something yourself. Google stuff, ask others, use your brain. This all you’ll be getting from me!" 

He grins impishly at him, and the frown melts away to a look of pure panic. "Alright then, see ya some other day, Kageyama! Take care and don’t mess up again ok?!" 

The call ends soon after and Kageyama is only left with his head in his hands. 

_Why?_

.

.

.

.

An unexpected notification did pop up in your phone a couple of days ago. A text made up of three little words: ‘I am sorry”. Your heart did launch into an excited gallop then and there; your breath did seem to catch at your throat. But still, whether it’s hurt or stubbornness or just plain pride and what you liked to think of as ‘self respect’—you chose to not respond at all. The messages thus remained on read, and despite the quickening of your heartbeats dragging on through the day, you went on about your everyday life things. But it refuses to leave your mind though, even now. And you feel close to forgiving too (maybe you already have. The very moment that “I am sorry” arrived with a short but crisp text that was built with nothing but sincerity, you knew you couldn’t be mad anymore.)

And the responsibility of healing from your hurt after the other side did its best, is your responsibility right?

But the silence on your part deliberately continues. There’s pride at play here. But once again, your phone lights up, carrying Kageyama’s text notification; you are forced to look away from the canvas in front of which you sit. With your brush in one hand, paint littering the other, it becomes a lot of headache to unlock the phone and check the text. By the time you’re successful, five minutes may have passed. 

**Kageyama:** I’m coming over.

It’s so simple, so direct, so…. _preposterous_ too! That it makes you panic instead of making you infuriated. At the speed of lightning you type out your first ever reply in three days-

 **You:** Why?

You wait and watch; the indication that he’s (already!) ‘typing’ his answer appearing within mere seconds of your hitting the send button. The speed at which the reply arrives makes your eyes widen to the size of saucers automatically, and when you read the said reply’s content, you almost choke on your own spit.

 **Kageyama:** We need to talk, since you’re not going to reply.

 **Kageyama:** And I’m already here.

_What? Wait no!_

You whip your head around, look at yourself, look at the condition of your apartment. This is once again going too fast. What should you say, what should you not say?

And most importantly…

Should you forget why you chose to do what you did? Should you forget the hurt, the disappointment, and swallow down the bitterness. Does accepting his apology mean that?

_What do you want to do Y/n?_

_I see hope. The thinnest shaft of light._

_Forgive him if you want then. What else can he do other than apologise? Isn’t that enough?_

The quietness of a few more seconds. A weight falls off your shoulders. 

There’s movement outside your flat: footfalls, followed by a sharp knock on the door. Your heart, as disobedient as it is, speeds up once more, running at what seems many many miles per hour. For some seconds (dumbly) what you do is merely stare at the door that shakes slightly from the effect of the knocking from outside and once you’ve regained your composure, you force yourself to walk towards the door, fists balled at your side. Inhaling deeply, you place your hand on the coldness of the steel knob and swing the door open. The smell of the evening hits you.

Dark haired, blue eyed and clad in a jacket, he crops up into your view, eyes widening the slightest bit when the door finally opens.

The first thing you say, however, is nowhere near warm and friendly—

“I could very well not let you in, y’know?”

He frowns. Once again. As he always does. And inspects your form sceptically. Whatever caused him to apologise, you don’t know. But you do know that being exceptionally emotionally perceptive and active upon it is never his forte—whether it was self-reflection or the guidance of a third party that caused him to realise that he ought to apologise. But you end up getting surprised again, when instead of the ill-tempered snap that you expected, what comes out is a reaction in a hushed voice—

“I apologised, right? What’s wrong now then? I’m sorry, L/n-san. I shouldn’t have ignored you time and again when you reached out to me. I guess it’s my turn to rethink my actions, sometimes you need to come out of your comfort zone.”

Your jaw slackens, slackens so much that it might permanently settle on hanging open. _What?_ You’re blown away; your entire being seems to turn so feather light that you might easily float away. Inside your stomach, there’s the fluttering of a thousand golden butterflies, frantic and schoolgirl-ish in their movements. There’s a fuzzy cotton in your head and his words ring in your ears, over and over and over—in that same quiet, and softer voice than usual; no irritation, no temper, rush of impatience in their notes.

“Why’re you staring like that?!”

There’s disharmony, the bubble pops and you’re broken out of your ill-timed reverie. You’ve half an urge to laugh but settle on shaking your head dismissively, which leaves Kageyama to gape at you, utterly confused. “You know what?” you tell him. “You’re not that bad. Come in,” you usher him inside.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that even Kageyama understands, maybe that’s why the colour blossoms across his cheek. Lugging his large frame to the other side of the door, he, however pauses near the shoe racks, something which makes you turn around curiously.

Maybe it’s the light playing tricks on your eyes, but has…the pink on his cheeks deepened all of a sudden?

“What’s wrong?” you ask crisply. “Take a seat. I’ll make you some tea.”

“There’s something I need to say, and well, give you too.”

As if on cue, immediately your heart rate spikes what appears exponentially. The lightness gone, your form instead freezes up—but this time out of a weird nervousness that is also about to cause your legs to turn to jelly. He pulls out a pair or two of shiny and colourful rectangular pieces of paper and holds them out towards you shakily.

You recognise them as all-you-can-eat sushi coupons.

“Are these…for me?” you mumble, dazed and amused.

“Their sushi is really good.”

“Is that supposed to be a form of apology?”

Kageyama’s face turns beet red at your jibe. “If you don’t want them,” he says irritably, “I’ll keep them, fine!”

“No, no.” You laugh it off and snatch the coloured papers from him. _Gosh, they seem to be from a pretty posh place too._ “Thank you.”

You smile and thus expect the conversation to end. You expect Kageyama to walk over and take a seat on the couch that lines the wall. But he doesn’t and stays rooted to the spot like a mannequin. Your heart has yet not calmed down; _what else now?_ “Umm…you can make yourself comfortable,” you add. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”’

There’s jittery tension wafting off his frame—you watch him clench and unclench his fists at his side, dart his eyes away from you to settle at staring at a faraway corner of the room. His face is burning; you can easily spot the obvious turbulence of emotions that are raging though his mind and heart. Maybe his heart too is beating as fast as yours right now.

“Is…something the matter?” you whisper. He shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“L/n-san, take this as a form of apology from me, I did hurt your feelings a lot after all, so how about this Saturday…”

Your breath hitches at your throat.

.

.

“W-would y-you l-like to maybe…go out with m-me ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted on unkahee.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> also posted on tobios-queen.tumblr.com


End file.
